


Lambs to Lions

by SweetDeath



Series: Blood and Chocolate [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bondage, Cannibalism, Death, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, F/M, Guro, I hate myself, M/M, Major Spoilers, Murder, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Painplay, Polyamory, Reader-Insert, Religious Symbolism, Romance, Season 1 Spoilers, Season 2 spoilers, Season 3 Spoilers, Smut, Spoilers, Tags May Change, Unclear Relationships, Violence, alcohol mention, dark themes, disgusting, gets real fucked up real fast, like it's gonna get really violent, my dramatic ass is makin a scene again, reader - Freeform, smut in chp 8, this follows the plot of the entire series ok it's gives away like everything prepare yourself, unspecified gender, x Reader, you - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-08-30 13:17:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8534653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetDeath/pseuds/SweetDeath
Summary: Only the strong survive. Hannibal slaughtered the lamb within you and was breeding a lion.





	1. influence

**Author's Note:**

> So I've decided to make a series of my first fic on Ao3 (Dangerous, part 1 of this series!) because I just recently finished season 3 of Hannibal after putting it off for a long time and i have to many f e e l i n g s about the show and!!!!! I need more!! i also wrote this to take my mind off a bunch of things. I'm a slut for validation so leave feedback please  
> Thanks, honeys~

He was a smiling god. He sat upon his throne of flesh and decay and watched his plan unfold perfectly, as every person he had cared for was caught in his tapestry of lies like a fly in a web. He was a spider. Funny, you felt a weird sense of déjà vu, comparing him to a spider, to bugs, but you couldn’t remember where that sense of unease came from.

Dinner dates were never your thing, especially dinner dates at fancy restaurants where the waiters paid attention to how low the level of wine in your glass was and refilled it everytime it hit just above empty. The low lights and serene chatter made for a relaxing and tempting environment, tempting for gluttony and for promiscuity. Soft jazz played from a live band but you didn’t bother to listen. Hannibal Lecter sat across from you with his napkin in his lap and ate a very, very red piece of meat. You had a small salad and a light soup in front of you. You didn’t feel very well. Felt sick.

“Darling, are you feeling well? All night you’ve been quiet.” He never missed a thing, that devil.

You laughed weakly. “I’m sorry. I just- I haven’t been feeling my best lately. I think I’m coming down with something.” You thought, “The flu, maybe.” Hannibal’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. He knew something was wrong, he always does, damn his sixth sense and damn his status as a doctor.

“Do you need to go home? We can go now if you would like.” He reached across the cream tablecloth to hold your hand. You didn’t know if it was a subconscious reaction or a symptom, but your hand twitched, flinched the smallest increment. He held firm, smothering that slight twitch.

You shook your head. “No,” you said, “I like it here.”

You looked at the live band for the second time that night. They caught your eye when you first came in but nobody else seemed very impressed by them and you didn’t want to make a scene and embarrass Hannibal by calling attention to them. You’d never understand the upperclass.

There was a thin man playing the drums with an ambiguous face that could pass as either twenty-five or sixty-five, and you would never be the wiser if he lied. He sounded slightly out of rhythm with the rest of the band, something awful because he was not only being paid for this gig but he was an important cornerstone for the band to keep its rhythm. What a shame. The dim lighting kept the rest of the band in secrecy.

Hannibal called your name and you jolted out of your reverie. He looked concerned and you wanted to, so dearly wanted to, believe that his concern was real but you didn’t know what was real and what was a mask with him anymore. It felt like he was hiding so many secrets from you but you didn’t know if he had any to begin with. Everything about him seemed to scream mystery, from his attire to his job to his gorgeous, thick accent. You’ve never found out much about his past and, honestly, you didn’t know if you would like to find out. You knew that  _ he knew _ things you did not, that you were being protected. But being protected did not mean you were safe, and the protection Hannibal was providing would put you in more danger rather than if he had not interfered. 

“We’d like the check please.” He spoke to a waiter that hovered over his shoulder. The man nodded and you looked to Hannibal for the reason why he was ending dinner so short. He met your gaze steadily and you wavered. 

“I can’t possibly continue this dinner with you so troubled.” The waiter returned quickly with the check in an expensive leather folder and placed it on the table between the two of you. You reached for it with a hand on your wallet and found Hannibal’s hand placed over yours. He smiled, “I also can’t possibly let you pay for a dinner you haven’t enjoyed.”

Your lips opened to say something but nothing but a stuttered “I-I, it’s not-” came out. You settled to bite your tongue and chew it gently instead, hating how your words spilled out like vomit. He paid in cash, and tipped a generous amount before looping your arm with his and leading you away before you could count the cost of the dinner.

The night was stormy. As soon as you stepped out of the warm comfort of the glassy doors and tall wood pillars, a freezing deluge of rain pelted your face. It felt like little shards of glass stabbing into your skin and the wind was a cold bullet ripping through you. Hannibal’s arm wrapped securely around you, pulling you close and tight. His suit jacket was draped around your shoulders and out of the corner of your eye you saw his hair matting to his head through the rain and his eyes squinting to see. Soon you were in his car, and he was sitting next to you, dripping. You moved to give him his jacket back, to dry off with if it couldn’t provide much warmth, but he stopped you and held your hand in his.

“It’s alright.”

In the blink of an eye you were in his driveway. You couldn’t remember falling asleep but the steady thrum of the rain on the metal roof and on the glass windows must have lulled you away to dreamland. You turned your sleepy gaze to Hannibal and he was staring at you with something of a fond expression on your face. You smiled weakly at him and laughed, embarrassed. 

“Have a drink with me.” Hannibal traced his thumb over the back of your hands in circles. 

 

You sat in Hannibal Lecter’s kitchen. He was making tea, since you had told him that coffee at night usually doesn't sit well with you. You felt sleepy; you could feel your eyelids drooping and the only thing that kept you from drifting off was the cold, hard marble of the table under your forearms. A kettle whistled and you jolted up, just in time to see Hannibal remove it from the stove and pour it into cups. You heard the crack of a tin can and saw him pouring some white liquid in the cups. He placed one white cup in front of you and sat next to you at the kitchen island’s countertop. 

“Hong Kong-style milk tea. Made of Ceylon tea and condensed milk and filtered through a fine strainer. It’s gained the nickname “pantyhose tea” over the years-” You snorted a little at his quip, “-and it is a lovely drink at lunch. I think you’ll enjoy this now though, it’s very warming.” His head bobbed slightly with a silent chuckle.

You took a sip and the swirled biscotti-colored drink was truly warming. “It feels like a warm hug.” You sighed happily. The tea was very sweet, just the way you liked it. He remembered you had a sweet tooth. How… sweet. 

“How about we see how long this storm will last?” Hannibal suggested. You stole a glance outside the glass doors of the kitchen and saw the rain was pouring down in gray sheets against the coal black sky. It didn’t look like it was stopping any time soon.

“Thank you, that’d be great.”

Inside a room you haven’t been in before (you figured it was a recreational room, with its soft, leather couch and a large television mounted on the wall. You couldn’t help but feel awed and just the slightest bit jealous), Hannibal turned on the T.V. and a news anchor spoke. “-and heavy showers throughout the region tonight, lasting throughout the week. Just a warning for some, a power outage is very likely, so make sure you have lots of bottled waters, canned goods, and a repair kit for any leaks that might spring up in the next couple of days. Stay safe, everyone.” Hannibal turned to you.

“I guess the storm isn’t going away.”

“Speaking of staying safe, rumors have been spreading about prisoner Abel Gideon being the Chesapeake Ripper. Straight from the TattleCrime website, journalist Freddie Lounds reports that the Chesapeake Ripper may have been in custody all along instead of waiting for another time to strike and law enforcement had previously thought.” Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Hannibal’s jaw clench just the tiniest bit, “But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be cautious if the Ripper isn’t him. Remember, that the Ripper from two years ago didn’t have a preference to his victims so try to remain in groups, don’t go out late at night,-” The television screen went black, as did every other light in the house. 

The static lingering on the television screen made a small hissing, a crackling as it diffused into the open air. With a heavy sigh, you leaned to the side to rest your head on Hannibal’s shoulder. As you were closing your eyes, he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close, laying a blanket from the couch over you. You fell asleep with his fingers playing and carding through your hair and the weight of his chin on the top your head.

  
  


The sun filtered through his impeccably clean glass windows, no curtain to obstruct their way. The sky was gray and the grass outside was matted with mud and garbage that flowed from the much too full sewers around the city. There was a light drizzle going on outside but the clouds were heavy and pregnant with the expectation of more rain. An antique clock in a corner of the room ticked almost silently and you leapt up from the couch like you were shocked, frightening Hannibal awake as you threw his arm away from you. It was almost half-past nine; you were nearly two hours late to work. Smoothing your clothes back into place, you kicked your shoes on and was almost out the door before Hannibal called out to you.

“Where are you going?” He was just sitting up and brushing his sleep-mussed hair into a more presentable style. 

“Sorry. I’ve got work today, and I’m late. I’ll finish around seven, maybe? I’ll give you a call later.”

“Why do you need to go to work this early? At all? Baltimore just flooded.”

You sighed reluctantly, “I’m sorry. Just, Miss Vivian said she needed me in at 7:30, but that was before all this rain and the storm and-” You stopped, “I just need to go. I’m sorry.” You walked towards the couch planted a quick kiss on his forehead before turning to leave, but Hannibal caught you by the neck and pulled you close, leaving a lingering kiss on the juncture between your jaw and the column of your neck.

“At least try to enjoy the day.” Hannibal’s breath was warm.

“I will. I like storms.”

  
  


Miss Vivian was livid. “Two hours late! I don’t care if half the world was under water, you come in on time, got that?” And “In my day, I would’ve been thrown out the second I came into work if I acted like you. It’d be useless coming into work,” but you’ve learned to tune her out since the second week you started the job. Hours passed by without a single customer and she had you busy threading the machines, rethreading them when she wasn’t satisfied with your first try, hemming clothes that came from rude customers, and ironing and reironing all the clothes that had already been pressed countless times. One of the washing machines broke a while back and she tried to get you to fix it, but you couldn’t. You didn’t know why she had three machines when she could do perfectly well with one. She had no work for you to do and you both knew it. The lightbulb in the reception room kept flickering but she insisted on replacing it only when it was  _ absolutely _ broken. What a penny pincher. As the long hours passed by, you began to disassociate. Then, suddenly it seemed, it was half past eight and you had promised Hannibal you would try to meet him early. You rushed out of the shop, locking the doors and turning off the burning hot fluorescent sign in the window. You realized that Vivian had already left. You locked the front doors lock, then its second and third. Vivian was paranoid about vandals breaking into her shop. You couldn’t blame her, she wasn’t exactly working in the Pentagon.

Your feet pounded on the unforgiving, wet cement and you began the long walk to Hannibal’s therapy office. It was closer than his house and you couldn’t call him because your phone died since you couldn’t charge it last night. How terrible. The streets were dark and dank and not a single soul roamed. Everyone stayed in the shelter of their warm, safe houses, recovering from the violent storm. Everyone except you. Hannibal was probably at work. You’ve never seen him take a day off.

Around what you assumed to be 9 o’clock, you reached his building. It looked like the lights were on, but that might’ve just been the cleaning crew. Even if Hannibal wasn’t there, you could either call him or crash on the couch he had in his waiting room; it was a very plush couch. You reached his office. The door was unlocked. 

You walked into his waiting room and saw a soft light bleeding out from under his main office’s door. You walked as slowly as you could to not disturb him if he had a patient at this hour and pressed your ear to the door. Silence, except for the quiet sound of classical music. You recognized it: Bach. Double concerto for violins,  _ Vivace _ . Hannibal must’ve rubbed off on you. The people you spend your time with become the person you are, you thought. It was unusually lively compared to his normal work music. He must not have a patient. You knocked twice but no answer. Slowly turning the doorknob, you peeked into Hannibal’s room. He wasn’t in it at the moment, but a few lamps were on and there were papers on his desk. He must have stepped out for a moment. You had a moment to take in the room. It was big, bigger than you remembered, and without anyone else in it, it felt very lonesome. You took the chance of solitude to sit in Hannibal's chair. It was far too big for you but you could appreciate the craftsmanship and attention to detail it took to create it. An open book on his desk showed the appointments he had that day. The last one was (presumably) a man named Franklyn, at 7:30. Hannibal must’ve finished at 8:30 then. He was still in the building. One of the clocks in the room read 9:17. 

The soft creak of wood and metal startled you and Hannibal was in the doorway, just as shocked as you. “Well,” He said, “what a pleasant surprise.” And smiled. You spun around a few times and waited for him to come to you. When he did, he held the chair still and pressed a kiss to your cheek. You leaned into his touch. 

“Hi.”

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

“Sorry, it’s dead. Last night’s blackout. Y-yeah.” You explained, stumbling along your words.

“I see.”

“Can you drive me home? I’m kinda tired…”

Hannibal smiled. “Of course.”

 

It started raining again on the ride home. The ride was quiet, a nice quiet, a peaceful quiet. It was nice. Hannibal always made things nice. The sense of him hiding something never went away, but you had learnt to deal with it, like living with the understanding that all things wither and die away with time. A human understanding of wanting to know, the reach for the absolvement of curiosity, but the tingling fear of what lies beyond the known. The cold splattering of the rain on the car’s windows were calming. The car stopped and your apartment loomed ahead. You felt warm, despite the chill. A fever, maybe. It didn’t matter, the world would still turn and the people you knew would go on with their lives, a little virus you caught didn't matter to them. You swallowed thickly before saying goodbye to Hannibal, slyly dodging a kiss but you could tell he noticed. Hannibal made a move to leave the car to open your door but you held his sleeve to stop him..

“No, it’s alright. I think I’m getting sick, I don’t want you getting sick, with the rain and all,” You paused to gauge Hannibal’s reaction. He frowned slightly but didn’t protest. He had important work, after all, and a cold would hold him back. “Pick me up from work tomorrow, alright? We can go get dinner or something then. How’s that sound?” You suggested, smiling weakly at Hannibal. You wanted to love him, you did, but the two of you were just so different.  _ It’s working out okay for now, _ you thought,  _ We’re doing so good right now. _

“I’d be glad to.” He said, “What time should I get you?” His eyes glimmered in the low streetlight. You thought for a second. Miss Vivian would probably make you work late again, but it was a Friday tomorrow so you didn’t have to worry about waking up early the day after. You could stay out with Hannibal all night, if he would want that. You know you wanted it. 

“How does nine sound?”

“Nine sounds fantastic.” You laughed at the way his eyes crinkled when he said that, so enthused. You were so lucky to know him, unbelievably lucky to have him. “I’ll prepare dinner for us. How does a night in sound? We could watch a movie, if you’d like.”

You grinned. “That sounds great. Thank you,” You opened your door, “And goodnight, Hannibal.”

He held the round of your skull and kissed your temple. “Goodnight.”

  
  


You opened your eyes to the sound of your alarm wailing on your phone next to your bed. The sound of rain pouring against the thin glass window was almost enough to lull you back to sleep, but the dread of having to work kept you from a peaceful slumber. Hannibal flitted through your mind, and you sighed, heaving your legs out of bed and on their way to the cold bathroom floor. He’d pick you up from work and make you feel better. Not only was he a psychiatrist, but he was a lovely-

What was he? You couldn’t remember ever having a conversation cementing your relationship. Were you in a relationship? Or were you simply friends-with-benefits, the “benefits” part soon to come? You kissed yes, you basically told each other of your love, but was that enough? It’d been awhile since you’d been in a relationship, you’d forgotten how it worked.

It didn’t matter though. You were on your way to work now, anxious thoughts of loving and losing Hannibal made the time pass like a winter breeze; painful, long, and numbing. You thought too much. Hannibal knew how to make the time pass, in a good way, and how to make you think less. How to think more, more of the good things, at least. It was eight o’clock by the time you got into work. The pavement made your feet ache but at least you could sit for a while behind the register or if Miss Vivian wanted you to hem anything. The sky was black but it couldn’t get any darker, so you held onto that small hope that things couldn't get any worse. 

Miss Vivian still refused to call a repairman to fix the washing machine and ordered you to do it. She did, however, buy you a book about how to fix washing machines that was about a thousand pages thick; it was a manual on how to fix a different brand of washing machines. If that wasn’t useless enough, it was decades old. You still flipped through its moldy pages looking for something useful. The book was in German. A language that you certainly could not speak. Today was going to be rough.

Hours pass by at a crawl when you are staring at a book of foreign letters and banging away at unkind machinery. Miss Vivian left at around five o’clock but insisted you stay until the washer was fixed. The sun went down quickly and you had to turn all the lights on because the darkness on this side of town was as threatening as a gun pressed to your temple. The night outside was like staring into the sky on the last day of the universe, when the very last star would flicker and burn out leaving the galaxy to hold itself forever in stagnant silence. So you made sure all the lights were on. Of course the light bulb in the customer reception room had to burn out. It burst with such a loud pop that the screwdriver in your hand flew across the room and made a dent in one of the unbroken washing machine’s. You hoped Miss Vivian wouldn’t notice. You knew she would. Now the only light left was in the backroom you were in, crowded with heated machinery and racks of unwashed clothing. It honestly felt like Vivian was running a combined laundromat and tailor shop (which she practically was, though she would deny it vehemently). 

The sharp but soft sound of metal scraping on metal made you hold your breath and stop tinkering away on the broken machine, but it was only the wind. The next time you heard the soft clicks you began to wonder if Miss Vivian locked the door on her way out, but you laughed because of course she did, she was so ostentatiously paranoid. It was always the end of the world whenever someone shady walked by her store. Tendrils of faint worry crept through your mind when it occurred to you that it was pitch black outside and no one was around, fearing the decrepit and dirty streets, afraid of thieves and pickpockets, despising the corrupt, foul businesses and sirs and ladies of the night that worked under the shadow of the moon. At the third click and the reluctant groan of unyielding metal, that cold feeling of paranoia Miss Vivian had flashed through your mind and you completely understood how she felt. Fuzzy lightheadedness overtook you as quiet footfalls snapped on the plastic tiled floor. Intruder. 

Your breath was caught in your throat and far from your lungs, stuck in limbo between being and not being. There was someone in the shop, oh lord there was someone in the shop and they broke the locks. You twisted and slid your body as softly as you could to lay low on the ground and in the shadows of the racks of dirty clothing. The light in the backroom was dingy and yellow, and the intruder’s steps came even closer. You felt dizzy and your blood rushed so fast that you could barely hear over your rushing veins and fluttering heart, body impossibly still and tense. “Fight or flight,” every nerve screamed, “Live or die,” every muscle hollered. Saliva was gone and your tongue felt swollen. You could see him now; it was a he, white, taller than you, not very heavy but strong enough to overpower you, and dressed in black. You could definitely die tonight. Goodbye, Hannibal, you thought, Goodbye, everything I never had. You traded the screwdriver in favor of the wrench, then reconsidered and kept both. The wrench slid under the waistband of your pants along your spine and the screwdriver in your shaking hands, ready to strike. 

The man’s face was young. Mid-twenties at the most, but young, for the most part. He had a knife in his hands that gleamed in the light and held violent promises on its serrated blade. You drew your body up and back, away from him with your weapon in front of you. He hadn’t noticed, yet. After his brief sweep of the store, he turned back to the main part of the store and you could hear him rattling the register, trying to open the lock with brute force. You would call the police but you kept your belongings in a cabinet that squeaked when it was passed, so that was not an option. Fight or flight, baby, fight or flight. 

You decided to fight. Standing, you grasped the screwdriver in a position as protective as possible and turned the corner. It was dark but you could see the shape of the man as clear as day. You steeled your nerves, wanting to be ready for anything. Fight.

You started with a loud, aggressive shout. The man swung around towards you as fast as lightning but you were loud as thunder. You shouted and screamed at him to leave, he brandished his knife at you to silence you. You backed up but straightened up, posture as dominant and angry as possible. He charged, eyes ablaze with fear and defiance, knife swinging wildly to harm you into submission. You scrambled away from it, screams reaching a crescendo and you plunged the screwdriver into his outstretched bicep. Howling, he bowled you over onto the ground, dropping the full weight of his body on your stomach and hips to pin you down. You pounded at his chest, feeling warm spurts of blood seep into the fabric and covering your fists. He struck you across the face in a motion that wasn’t exactly a punch of a slap. He was an inexperienced fighter, you gathered. You could stand a chance. He pulled the tool from his arm with groan that sounded through closed teeth and threw it to the side where it bounced with metallic singing before it was well out of your reach. His hands shot towards your throat, to choke you, to silence you permanently, maybe. He was lightning but you were thunder; loud, roaring, and only existing in that moment of electricity in the air. Your veins were electric wires threaded through your body, sending impulses from sensory neurons up your central nervous system to your brain and back down, acted out through motor neurons in fearful, primal defense. Your hands clasped around his collarbone and shoulders, straight out so he couldn’t come any closer. In a burst of clarity, a lesson from a self-defense class taken years ago surfaced. You planted a foot on the ground and swiveled your hip, throwing him off balance and he tried to pull away. Then you held onto his wrists tightly and as he struggled to get away, your knees drew up and suddenly he was overwhelmed with a barrage of kicks to his face and neck. He was spluttering through your heels and his blood and you let go when his arms stopped going for your throat and instead pulled away to protect himself. The plastic floor tiles dipped as his body rolled away from you and you away from him. You struggled to your feet and made for the door- flight- and he grabbed the back of your shirt and slammed you onto the counter, the register rattled and the lightbulb popped again, this time it glowed faintly. It wasn’t dead. The light flickered on and off like a strobe light; you could see him, face bleeding and red, and then you couldn’t, feeling his blood splatter on your face instead. He was hitting you again and you saw stars, your jaw fiercely shutting over your bottom lip and you could feel the sting as it split, feel the skin on your cheekbones and eyebrows stretch and tear as his knucklebones grazed them with merciless power. You clawed at his arms to stop but nothing stopped except the screaming you did when you first attacked him. You were silenced. His arms grew heavy and lead-like, he slowed, and you raked your nails across his eyes in his moment of weakness. The light flashed on and in its yellowness you saw bright red on his face through the bright red that trickled into your eyes and burned, and you kicked him back. 

You reached behind you to grab the hot metal that pressed against the curve of your spine and the dip of your hip and the man had his knife in hand. The wrench slammed against his jaw and he flew backwards. Fight. Your legs ran on their own towards him, your arms came down like the judgement of a malevolent god and hot metal met hot skin and struck him across the face again and again. The light blew out again and you couldn’t see but his nails were trying to tear at your thigh through your jeans and the other was reaching for the knife that flew from his hand. You used the wrench like a hammer; pounding out sheet metal to even the surface. Only this was a man’s face, not sheet metal, and instead of uniformity you felt wet drops of blood and the occasional splat of something solid on your person. Your mind lost itself and when you returned from whatever plane of unconsciousness you hid in, the man beneath you was still and the light was on and-

His face was mush. You jerked off him and slammed into the tile between his knees, holding back the bile crawling up your throat. In that split second before you reeled away, you saw his face. His lack of face. It was all red, red and wet and pulpy. You knew there was supposed to be some white in there, some gray, but it was all red and pink and there was brown hair matted from where his scalp broke into his skull and-

You vomited, choking on it as you turned to let gravity take it to the ground. It was disgusting, it was terrible, awful, sinful, wrong- it was irreversible. The light flickered off again. Nobody was around, no one was ever around in this neighborhood, especially at night. No one except you and this body. What were you going to do with him? The lightbulb was strobe lighting again, and you felt like you were going to have a seizure, or at least what you thought a seizure might feel like. The light came back on again and the squeak of rusted metal hinges on the front door sounded. When you looked up, you were drowning in the shadow of Hannibal Lecter and he looked nothing short of surprised, if not pleased. At the sight of your bashed face, his brow furrowed and he quickly kneeled and held your bloodied body in his arms. Your labored breathing hitched and stopped and hitched again, then you were sobbing, his touch being the last drop of water that broke the dam. He pressed his cheek against your forehead and temple in what was a calming gesture and a painful one. His hands cradled the back of your skull and it hurt and you couldn’t help imagine what the dead man’s skull must look like and how it must have felt to have his face bashed in and oh no you were crying so hard you couldn’t breathe. Hannibal was shushing you softly and pulled away.

You realized why he felt so distant, why it felt like storm clouds loomed over your head. This is what he knew. This is what he did. This was his venom, he was a spider and he trapped you in his web. What a fool you’ve been, to fall in love with a man that knew so much and had so much power over the living. You hadn’t even realized how much power he had over you. You saw the sky clearly after the rain, and it was full of promises of wretched glee and sinful wrath. He was the storm and he knew he had pushed you to violence. You knew now that everything he did was subtly planting ideas in your head, killing the pacifist in you and raising a killer. He had waited for you to react in such a way and you did, you killed a man, so congratulations, Dr. Lecter, you won this round.

“Shh… Breathe with me, in,” A hitching, too full breath, “out,” and all the air whooshed from your lungs so fast you had a coughing fit. He held your hands firmly in his and held both against the curve of your cheekbones, encouraging you to breathe with him and maintain eye contact. You hadn’t even noticed the wrench was still in your hand until Hannibal had to pry it out of your fingers and you dropped it like it burned you. He stood and pulled you up, a dead weight, and wrapped his jacket around you. He was covered in blood from holding you and you saw yourself in the glass of the window and you were black with blood, it enveloped you like water in the womb. Hannibal guided you outside to his car; no one was watching, no one ever was, and sat you in his passenger seat. You were trembling and shaking and you couldn’t stop, but he pressed a long, passionate kiss on your temple and said, “I’ll take care of this,” and left you there. You wanted to follow him, to never be alone ever again, but he said he would take care of this and, by god, you trusted him with your life and more. So there you sat, tremulous in his car and bloodied. You saw him for the monster he was. He knew how to handle a dead body, how to get rid of evidence, how to get away with murder, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him. You didn’t want to close your eyes, you didn’t want to see, you didn’t want to  _ not _ see, but you had no choice. You saw Hannibal through the glass. He was wrapping the body in a sheet, in two sheets, in too many sheets. His sleeves were rolled up and his forearms flexing with the weight, the  _ dead _ weight, of your burden. You choked as you began to sob again, this time without Hannibal helping you to breathe, and your vision turned static, black and white and gray, before fading so quickly and so slowly-an endless paradox- to nothing.


	2. And Rage, Rage Against The Dying Of The Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time stopped and you felt more alive than ever before. It was strange. Who knew something so depraved could be so euphoric?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey look who's back on time for once  
> so this chapter is so long bc i have no self control and, as always, it's unbeta'd and unedited. idk where we're going from here but i know it's gonna be a WILD ride  
> Comments keep me going! If you want more please comment what you liked, what you didn't, what could use improvement.
> 
> also, let me just say that I do not own Hannibal but I DO own this fanfiction. I'm sorry to have to say that but I will from now on bc someone on quotev stole one of my older stories and it was very upsetting.

The last thing you remember was shivering in the dark, covered in the coppery fluids of a dead man. Someone you killed. Then you were in Hannibal’s bed, with him sponge bathing you with cool water. Your mouth was dry and you could barely see through the haze of your pounding headache. The room was scorching and yet it felt like the frigid waters of the Arctic. You were burning up.

The sharp sound of water dripping brought you a little bit closer to the realm of the living. Hannibal came into your vision, in a sleeping shirt and an unreadable expression on his face. He smiled.

“Good morning.”

A fit of coughs overcame you, he rubbed comforting circles in the space on your spine and between your shoulder blades. You had gotten sick. No wonder, with the beginnings of a virus already in your system and the intense strain of killing a man. 

“How do you feel?” He had something of a smug lilt in his voice. He knew exactly how you felt.

“I feel like I got hit by a truck.” You groaned, raking your palm over your eyes to help pacify the ache of your veins. Hannibal helped bring you to sit up and lean back on a stack of pillows he had arranged. The sheets were fresh and white and smelt like sandalwood. He placed a warm serving tray on your lap. In it was a bowl of amber broth and pieces of meat and carrots lay still at the bottom of the ceramic bowl. It smelled slightly sweet and appetising, sort of like caramelized yellow onions.

“Double-dark chicken soup.” He saw your raised eyebrow. “Sometimes, all one needs is a little tradition and stability. Richness doesn’t appeal to an upset stomach.” He laid a spoon on your tray. “Eat. You need your strength.”

Bubbles grew in your stomach. You were absolutely starving. Sure, you felt sick, but hungry nonetheless. You took up your spoon and dipped it in the broth; it was thin and slightly shimmering with oil. Raising it to your lips, you blew on the steaming soup. It was pleasantly warm, almost burning your throat-but in the nicest way possible- and it was deep, dark, and it lingered on your tongue for a while after you swallowed it. It was savory, almost earthy, and it reminded you of warm nights by a fire in winter, when the fire was almost dead and burning embers cast dancing shadows over all that stood before it. 

“It’s delicious.”

“I would hope so.” Hannibal reached over and smoothed a fly-away hair down from your face, framing you with his palm. “But we need to discuss the matter at hand.”

A cold chill swept through you. You hoped it had been a dream. You knew it wasn’t, but you had hoped so hard that it was. The white matter turned pink flashed behind your eyelids each time you blinked and you knew that you couldn’t have dreamt that up.

“I know.”

“I’m glad you recognize that. You accept responsibility. You don’t have to worry about it anymore, unless you plan on turning yourself in.” His countenance was nearly unreadable but there was an air of superiority in his voice. “I took care of the mess.”

You weren’t sure what to say. What to think. Hannibal willingly and professionally disposed of a dead body, like he did this a million times.

“You’ve done this before?” You asked. “You know how to handle it? Them?”  
Hannibal’s head was slightly askew, tilted to the side. His posture was straight as ever and he was immaculate. Sunlight bathed the room in its warm glow, like slow dripping honey.

“Killed? Or gotten rid of a body?” His hand dropped from your face to move your eating tray from your lap to his bedside table. “I’m quite experienced in both fields, as well as getting away with it.” He said it so casually like it was nothing more than a topic of the the weather. Almost like the act of taking someone’s life hadn’t crossed his mind as being immoral. 

Your breath was caught in your throat; it felt like your breath was constantly in your throat, at the frequency it was happening. Honestly, this news wasn’t surprising. Something was always off with him, Hannibal was too perfect. He knew what to say and when to say it, what to do and when to do it. Someone once told you that the more perfect someone seems, the more terrible the flaw is that they try to hide. How true that was. 

“How many times?”

“Too many to count. Rest, dear, you’re sick.” He held your hand and gently pushed you down in the bed. Your head was hazier than it had been before, in a pleasant way. It didn’t throb as much, or if it did you couldn’t feel it as vividly. It was like taking a warm bath in the dark. Sleepy.

“I put a mild sedative in your soup to calm you. When you wake, you’ll feel much better.” Hannibal pressed a kiss to your forehead and you could barely see the outline of his jaw as he approached, your vision too dark. You succumbed to sleep.

  
  


The next time you awoke your fever was gone. The next time you were fully awake, that is. Brief clips of memory of waking and eating and not being awake drifted aimlessly through your head, like watching a movie with its film all in the wrong order, a series of events haphazardly thrown together with no regard for the audience. You felt like a dream. The clock on the bedstand read three, or eight, you couldn’t be sure, vision still a little hazy. The lack of light in the room suggested that the latter was correct. Hannibal wasn’t in the bedroom.

You stood, realizing you were wearing one of his night shirts. It wouldn’t be the first time, and from the looks of your situation, it wouldn’t be the last. You still held him near your heart, but maybe it was just the drugs that kept you amourous. Your legs felt like jelly when they hit the ground. As you stood, your stomach felt more queasy than your legs did and it took all your concentration to not vomit. The journey down the stairs didn’t stick in your memory and suddenly you were in his sitting room and he had dinner ready. Soup again. 

“Hello, love.” He offered an arm for your balance. You took it. 

“You murderer.” You spat as he sat you down across from his seat in the dining room. You couldn’t remember when you got in the dining room.

“Don’t forget you also killed someone.” He wasn’t surprised at your accusation. He probably expected something of the sort when you awoke. He gave you medicine for a reason.

“I did it in self-defense.”

“With a wrench? The man’s brains were scattered from the floor to the ceiling, I’d hardly call that self-defense if I were a judge.” A smirk graced the doctor’s face. He was enjoying this. This was play for him. 

You had no response for him and ate in silence. The fireplace was lit and it matched the feeling you got from the chicken soup. White candles in calabras sat on the table, glowing a soft light. The soup was nice. It made your stomach feel less painful and more tolerable. Hannibal ate, waiting for questions or more accusations from you.

“So what now?” You refused to look at him. Your reflection swam in amber soup in front of you.

“Now, you continue with your life. The past is in the past. It is not wise to wake the dead to do the bidding of the living.” Hannibal chose his words carefully, as he always has. 

Your spoon clattered on the table. 

“I hate you.” He said nothing. 

“I hate you so much.” Hannibal brought the spoon to his lips and drank it. 

“You did this to me.” At that he moved.

“How did I do this to you? Did I coerce you into fighting instead of fleeing? Whisper in your ear? Tell me, my darling, how did I force you to commit murder?” He spoke with such confidence and finality that it shook you to the core. Made you unsure. Doubtful.

“You…” You didn’t know what to say, “I wasn’t like this before. I’d never…”

“Kill?”

“I’d never do that… It must be you; it  _ has _ to be you.” Your breath came in gasps and your lower lip quivered so much the words were almost indecipherable. 

Hannibal was at your side in an instant, holding you close, secure, to his chest and his hands traced comforting patterns on your back and through your hair. “We never know who we are until we are forced to act. Living complacently does not show our true selves, it shows who we’ve been conditioned to be. As animals, our instincts are to eat and to fight; suppressing that instinct can be disastrous, as you can see.” He murmured in your ear.

Your sobs shook him but he absorbed your impact. It hit you, the finality of your actions, even if they were in self-defense. Hannibal couldn’t have influenced you, right? He had done nothing wrong, right? He never told you how to kill someone, never told you to fight. Why did it feel like he made you do this? Why did it feel like he was manipulating you? You had no right to blame him.  _ You _ were the one that killed a man. 

“It’s alright to feel trapped so long as you do not blind yourself to reality. Can you do that? Do you see what you’ve done?” Hannibal traced circles on the nape of your neck.

“Yes,” You cried, “Yes! I know, I know I did it, I didn’t want to but I did!” You were like a fire, burning brightly even though you were shrinking and dying but gasping for enough oxygen to carry on. “I know! I killed a man!”

You felt Hannibal smile. “And you accept the consequences of your actions, if they come? You would confess what you’ve done?” He rested his head against yours, the wet trails of your tears wiped off by his hand. You stilled almost instantly in his arms and the room was unnaturally silent.

“No,” You said slowly, trying to process and understand what you were saying as the words left your mouth, “I don’t want to go to prison.” Hannibal closed his eyes at that.

“Excellent.”

  
  
  


Your bruises and cuts healed quite a bit over the weekend. Purple turned to green then to yellow and lacerations scabbed over thinly. You still looked awful. Come Monday, you had to call out sick, not only because of your injuries, but you were also still overcoming your virus. Hannibal allowed you to stay at his house for the weekend and for longer, he said, if you so desired. You did. 

It was strange, being in the same house as a killer, being a killer, and knowing that your partner (were you partners now? Murder partners? Romantic partners? Were you the new Bonnie and Clyde?) has disposed enough bodies to do it as if it was as normal as taking out the trash. 

Hannibal had to go to work though, and he left you on your own in his house. He trusted you enough with that. You did your best to stay out of his business though, and kept yourself busy with reading from his impressive library. It helped keep your mind off your situation as well. Miss Vivian called once or twice, complaining over the phone since she couldn’t do it in person. Hannibal must have cleaned the shop meticulously because Vivian didn’t say anything out of the usual. You had just picked up  _ The Secret Garden _ when Hannibal entered the foyer. Was it eight o’clock already? 

“Good evening, love.”

“Hi, Hannibal.” A slight pause interrupted the flow of conversation that would have usually taken place. You had no words for him and he knew he couldn’t force you to speak. You were very stubborn. You began to wring your hands together nervously.

“Say, Miss Vivian called me today. I was just wondering did you-did you clean up okay?” You didn’t know how to say it. Hannibal shrugged off his jacket and sat next to you, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. 

“Don’t worry,” He walked a trail down your jawline with his fingers, “It’s like it never happened.” But of course something did happen. A storm happened. The cloud pregnant with rain and blackness burst and released torrents of blinding lightning and deafening thunder. Nothing would ever be the same.

“I can’t agree with that.” You leaned into him, glad for his warmth. You felt a little sleepy. It was Hannibal’s presence; he was always calming and soothing like hot tea on a cold night. “It happened and I’ll never be the same.”

  
  


Near the end of the week you went back to work. Thursday. Vivian was mad, but she was always mad. She did get someone to fix the washing machine though, she must’ve been lonely enough to call a repairman. The newspaper she picked up earlier in the week said something about the death of a member of the orchestra, quite gruesome, and Vivian was even more paranoid than before. She didn’t have any work for you again and made you run errand to a local market to pick up lunch and groceries for her. The walk on the way was nice. The sky had cleared up since the storm and it was a bright blue. Clouds drifted lazily by, tufts and tail ends of cloud breaking off and being translucent wisps in the sky. The wind was cool and brisk, and lashed against your face in the kindest way possible. The grocery store was empty as it should be, it was not even noon yet. You picked up some sandwiches and drinks, and checked off everything Miss Vivian wanted off the list. Artichoke, anchovies, white bread, apple pie. The clerk at the counter flirted with you a little bit and that lifted your spirits. It was appreciated but not reciprocated. You had Hannibal after all. (Did you  _ really _ have him though?)

The walk back to work was not as pleasant, unfortunately. The plastic bags cut into the flesh on your arms and left deep, red indents and the paper bag you were holding made your wrists ache something terrible. You were glad to be back in the store and dropped off the goods at the front counter. Being slammed against it resurfaced in your mind and you pushed it down and smiled wider. You were going to forget and you were going to recover. No need lingering on what can’t be changed. The past. 

Lunch was pleasant. The evening was even more pleasant. Miss Vivian let you go home early, probably because she wanted to get her groceries home before dark. You decided to walk to Hannibal’s office again. It was almost sundown, and if he wasn't there at least you had the chance to exercise a little bit before heading home. The lights in the window of his office were off. Damn. The sky was getting cloudy again too. 

You frowned and decided to at least try the door. Going for the doorknob, you nearly fell over when it swung out and caught the back of your hand and shot dull throbs up the length of your arm. 

“Ah!” You cradled it. Hannibal came out from the other side of the door confused but he quickly understood what happened. “I’m so sorry, my dear,” He approached you. “Here, let me see.” Hannibal gently moved your hand away from your aching right hand. It was red and swollen. He frowned.  _ Why were you always getting hurt? _

“You need ice. I’ll make you a cup of tea at my house as well.” Hannibal stated his invitation like a fact. 

  
  
  


“Again, I’m so sorry.” Hannibal said as he escorted you to his door. It started raining again on the drive back. What a shame it was, because the rain quickly turned to hail in the cold weather. Hannibal gave you his jacket as a feeble protection against the painful sting of ice but it was at least a comfort. Your fingers were numb. He fumbled with his keys for a second, with one arm wrapped around you, you couldn’t blame him. He still had that frown on his face. What a nice face it was.

Soon you were in his house and it was warm. Hannibal had a pot on the stove going. He wrapped a bag of ice in a dishcloth to keep your hand from getting too cold.

“I’m so sorry, my dear, but a friend of mine is coming over for dinner tonight. I’m afraid I’ll have to start dinner and you’ll have to leave soon. Do you need me to take you home?” Hannibal’s eyes were kind, kinder than you remembered them being in the last two weeks. You took a short while to answer. You did need a ride to your house, as the rain and hail turned to snow and there's was quite a distance between your house and his. But you would hate to interrupt dinner with a friend. What type of host would be late to his own dinner, in his own house?

“No, I’ll be fine. I’ll just have a drink then I can go. Do you have a jacket I can borrow? I didn’t bring anything thick enough for the snow.” You laughed to excuse your lack of common sense. Hannibal’s brow furrowed. Surely you weren't thinking of walking home in the snow.

“I must insist on driving home if you’re thinking of walking.”

“Oh, no!” You shook your head, “I’ll take a bus. It’s just a bit too chilly for my liking.”

The tea kettle whistled. A steaming cup was in your hands. It was plastic and had a lid. A to-go cup. The smell of his cooking, the dishes in the over, wafted lightly in the air. Whatever he was making smelt delicious. Maybe he’d cooking something for you tomorrow to make up for not having you for dinner tonight. You lowered your nose to smell the tea. It was Earl Gray. That was always nice. How traditional. As you spooned sugar into it (one cube, two cubes, three cubes, and just  _ one  _ more. Okay  _ now _ just one more. Alright.) Hannibal left the room to get a coat for you. You felt a little excited to get to wear his clothes. It would be so comfortable, so big on you. You’d be dwarfed by it. 

The light from the oven was a healthy yellow. Hannibal must have replaced the light bulb again. Red thoughts flitted through your head and you took a sudden gulp of the tea to distract yourself. You coughed; the tea scalded your tongue and throat. At least it was sweet. As your tongue felt bubbling and burning, Hannibal came down the stairs with a brown jacket. The coat was a little bulky: it was fur lined. 

“Here you are.” He smoothed the jacket around your shoulders. You giggled a little bit. Your arms weren’t in it yet! He pressed a kiss to your cheek and you put your tea down to slip the jacket on. He helped you zip it up. Then you embraced him.

“You’re so warm.”

“You’re so cold.”

You looked up at him. Goodness, he was tall. “I guess I’ll go now.” You rocked on the balls of your feet but didn’t let Hannibal go. He was stroking your hair. He did that a lot.

“Do you like my hair?” You spared a glance at him. Hannibal’s eyes were already on you and you blushed: he was staring. You buried your head in your chest. He laughed, short and resonant.

“I love it. I can tell you take care of it,” He inhaled a long breath, “It smells like you. Like a herb garden and like sweet flowers. Rosemary and lavender. Honey and milk. Gardenia and pikake jasmine. You smell like-” Hannibal closed his eyes and breathed you in again, “a new birth.” 

It was confusing. You were flattered and, for some abstract reason, a little offended. You knew he was paying you a compliment: fragrance was not something Hannibal took lightly. Yet when you tried to imagine all those scents together, you couldn’t picture anything but a mismatched cacophony of colors and smells. One at a time, you could image how pleasing they would be. It felt like Hannibal was making a fool of you but you knew he wasn’t. Maybe you weren’t  _ cultured _ enough to understand. 

“A new birth?”

“You smell like a fresh start. Just like how rain washes away disaster, I feel rejuvenated when I’m near you.” You were red now. “And I hope you feel the same near me.”

You licked your lips to answer him.

“I think-” The doorbell rang. You froze like a deer in headlights. What now?

“Ah,” said Hannibal, “That should be him.” He didn’t look anything but pleasant. Not even a little annoyed that you were interrupted in the middle of either telling him you loved him or that you didn’t. You, on the other hand, were miffed. 

“I am so sorry again, my dear, but it appears our time together is over. We can talk over dinner tomorrow night. I’ll arrange a time to get you, don’t you worry,” His grip on your shoulders was warm and strong. It gave you the same feeling of comfort that a good hug might. “I’m afraid I can’t keep my guest waiting and it isn’t polite to have a guest leave at the same time another arrives,” His warm, comforting grip was directing you to the glass door that led to his porch outside. It was absolutely covered in snow. His hand snatched your cup of tea from the counter and wrapped your fingers around its heat. “Goodnight.” He said and pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth before almost literally throwing you into the snow. It was more of an insistent push. 

You were on the snowy bank of his porch and you heard the door shut closed. When you turned around Hannibal's back was quickly leaving your view. You heard the door open, muffled through the glass, and the faint sound of a welcoming voice. As you saw the shadow of a man enter through the doorway, you decided it was high time to get out of there. Was it actually polite etiquette to not have a guest at the time of welcoming another guest? You didn’t know. Didn’t care. You jumped off the white covered porch and into the snow, running as fast as you could. 

  
  
  


The bus was late. As you walked into your apartment, shivering and grasping an empty bottle. Your door jammed, so standing out in the snow trying to yank the door out of its frame for ten minutes was your definition of a fantastic time. When you did enter, you got dirty snow everywhere. Now, you sat on your couch, seething. 

It wouldn’t do any good. You took a shower, a nice, hot, long shower. You didn’t care about the water bill. That was a problem for next month and you needed this. When you picked up your shampoo, you read the label carefully. It was rosemary. Conditioner was lavender. Body wash was milk and honey. You scoffed. Hannibal the Great, and his Amazing Sniffer. You were undeniably bitter. If someone asked, though, you would deny it. 

As you towelled off, you thought. ‘ _ What, do I just naturally smell like flowers? What am I, a saint? _ ’ But you realized that was probably exactly what Hannibal was saying you were to him and you tried to stop thinking about it. Tried, being the key word, as it would resurface in your mind every few minutes. ‘ _ You smell like a new birth, _ ’ you shook your head, ‘ _ Hormones in sweat attract partners, you know _ ’, you shook your head, ‘ _ Maybe the two of you are meant to be. Lovers. _ ’ You shook your head really hard at that one. 

You picked up a book to read the other day. As you pulled it out, you saw the cover and became more frustrated, more angry than before. The forlorn, dead faces of the star-crossed lovers stared at you.  _ Romeo and Juliet. _ You threw the play against a wall of your bedroom blindly, then lit some incense and went to bed. What terrible timing, having all these confusing feelings in you and trying to read Shakespeare. You silly thing. Don’t you know  _ Romeo and Juliet _ is a tragedy?

The sky was black and you saw shadows fall across the wall of your bedroom. Snow in the moonlight. You remembered that the blood of the dead man was black in the dark. No, no, you told yourself. That’s no good. It didn’t happen. ‘Oh,’ said a small and bitter voice in the back of your mind, ‘But it did.’ Shut up. With a rough sigh, you tossed and rolled over in bed, facing the wall. At least you couldn’t see the shadows this way. As you drifted off to sleep, you thought you smelt the slightly cloying fragrance of fresh cut gardenias and the delicate sweetness of young pikake jasmine.

  
  


Your alarm beeped on your phone loud in your ear. You felt unusually happy. Mornings were never quite as enjoyable as evenings. At least you could sleep in the evening. You began your morning routine to start the day. When you finished getting ready, you opened your fridge to make something to eat and you frowned. After not being in your house for almost a week it was no surprise that everything was rotten. A nauseous wave swept through your stomach and you quickly closed the refrigerator door. Just as you were stepping through the door to go to work, you remembered Hannibal’s jacket and plastic cup. You grinned widely. The jacket was warm and smelt like him; you wouldn’t place your finger on what he smelled like, but it was dark and heady and lingered long after he was gone. You slipped on the jacket. You could just imagine him right there, arms around you, chin resting on top of your head, whispering affectionate, sweet nothings. You’d return the jacket and cup after work.

Snow still covered the sidewalks on your way to work. It was no big deal. At least it wasn’t hailing again. The sun was yellow and made your eyes sore with its reflection on the snow. You could hear the sounds of traffic in the distance and you were glad you didn’t have a car. Way too expensive for you.

Miss Vivian was in a surprisingly good mood. She said her favorite game show came on last night and she knew every answer to every question and how she would’ve won some big bucks if only she was on the show. It was nice to see her being so pleasant. Being grouchy all the time just wasn’t healthy for anybody! 

In fact, she was in such a good mood that she closed the shop up early. Said she had to try her luck with the lottery scratch cards. She even asked for any good luck charms you had. You rooted through your bag and found a broken phone charm with a small jade amulet on the end of it. The keys to your house and some old shopping receipts fell out of your bag in your search and you quickly put them back as to not spoil Vivian’s mood with your disorganization. You remember a friend gave the gift to you for your last birthday but it broke off when you dropped your phone and caught it by the charm. At least your phone didn’t crack. You were reminded of how desperately you needed to clean out your bag. Clean the whole house, more like it. You needed a new beginning. Maybe then you could finally put that murder behind you. You shivered.

It was high time to bring Hannibal his jacket and cup back. You pulled the coat on and took a deep breath; you still didn’t know what Hannibal smelled like. Whatever it was, you enjoyed it. As soon as you left the store, a blast of frigid air met you and nearly blew you backwards. You couldn’t wait for spring to come. Miss Vivian waved goodbye as you left. 

  
  


When you reached Hannibal’s office, a sign outside the waiting room read, “ **CLOSED** ” in big red letters. That was a little strange. He worked until at least seven on a normal day and the sun was still bright in the sky when you arrived. You frowned. He didn’t say he would close his practice early today. Maybe he wanted to surprise you at work. You laughed. You wanted to surprise him at work! Your grip on the plastic cup tightened. It was warm again because you bought some tea from a hipster cafe on the way. It was some type of cinnamon tea, you couldn’t pronounce the rest of the words in its title. You hoped he would like it. 

The door was unlocked. That was also a bit strange, seeing as how if a business was closed, the door would normally be locked. Maybe he was in after all. The waiting room was empty. That meant he finished with his patients for the day, didn’t it? You couldn’t imagine him with a patient after closing for the day. That was a little...creepy.

Light flooded from under his office’s door: natural, not from a lamp. He hadn’t closed the curtains. You smiled. You really did catch him! Imagine the joy in his face when you open the door and say something along the lines of, “Hey, doc! You got time for some tea?” 

On second thought, that sounded really lame. You cringed. At least he would be happy with you. You could be happy with him. And finally put all this killing business behind you, once and for all.

You opened the door to see Hannibal standing far from you, a man standing between him and the door, and someone lying on the floor.

Dead.

They all turned to look at you. The dead man’s face was already staring at you, his eyes wide, unblinking, and quickly drying. His neck bent at an unnatural angle.

“Hannibal?”

Time seemed to freeze. The man standing between you and Hannibal had some type of wire in his hands. A smile slowly formed on his face. Hannibal looked surprised. Not in the way you wanted him to, not in a way you ever wanted him to look. Something, almost akin to panic or to fear washed over him. A cold feeling in your stomach grew. This was supposed to be over.

Hannibal snapped you attention to him by calling your name sharply. “Leave,” he said. “Please.”

“Hello.” The man said, taking wide steps towards you. His teeth were showing. All of them. The pink of his gums shone in the soft sunlight, his grin was so wide. “Are you a friend of Dr. Lecter’s?”

Your feet started moving backwards but for every step you took he took two. Hannibal was spurred into action, quickly slipping around a chair and stepping over the dead man on the ground. The man in front you was too close. Hannibal was too far. He began to swing that coil of wire around and it made a whistling sound that made your heart race. 

“I’m Tobias Budge.” He was almost close enough to hit you now.

“I killed the man in the orchestra.” You almost tripped over the rug in the waiting room.

“I played him like a violin.” Why was Hannibal so far away? Wasn’t he running?

“Dr. Lecter killed that man over there, someone  _ I _ had wanted to.” Oh, that whistling was metallic and unforgiving, sending vibrations in the air that reached your eardrums. Your brain interpreted them as “run”.

“So I’m going to kill you in return.” Tobias lifted his arm to swing at you and you snapped the top off of your cup and threw the steaming tea in his face. It was  _ hot _ . Tobias’ shouts were muffled by his hands trying to wipe the scalding liquid from his eyes. You lurched backwards on one foot and kicked him square in the chest with your other and he was unbalanced, sent hurtling out of the waiting room and back into Hannibal’s office.

Hannibal sidestepped Tobias who landed harshly on top of his dead friend then rolled another few feet from the impact. Hannibal had a wry smile on his lips.

“‘That’s my mieloji.” The pride in his voice was infectious. You didn’t know what ‘mieloji’ meant and it didn’t even matter. For a moment, it seemed almost normal to be smiling along with him with a dead man and a soon-to-be dead man writhing on the floor. Then you reminded yourself that this was not normal and Tobias stood up. 

He rushed Hannibal, knocking him backwards. They wrestled on the floor for a second and you stood, creeping along the center of the room. You’ve never done this before. 

When Hannibal managed to get up, Tobias had grabbed his coil of wire and swung it again, this time catching Hannibal’s wrist. In their struggle you could see beads of blood seeping through Hannibal’s white shirt cuff and you felt helpless. You looked around the room and found nothing that could immediately help you. You knew you were no match for Tobias in terms of physicality, so you would have to resort to dirty tricks. 

You grabbed one end of the reclining couch and flipped it over. It was heavy but the adrenaline coursing through your system made your arms feel stronger, your thighs feel more powerful, and you threw it with ease. The furniture made a loud cracking sound as it hit Tobias between the shoulder blades and a winded grunt was forced from him. Hannibal threw a punch to his face as Tobias lurched forward and he dodged narrowly, skin scraped off by the force of Hannibal’s punch. You took this chance to jump on Tobias’ back, wrapping your hands around his throat and using the bony tips of phalanges to dig into his windpipe. As your nails bit into the skin, Hannibal freed his hand from the wire and Tobias grabbed a glass table and smashed it into Hannibal. You were nothing more than nuisance to him.

With a newfound anger in you, you squeezed his neck with as much power as you could summon and Tobias’ knees weakened and he stumbled; you were having some effect on him. Hannibal threw another punch and Tobias caught it in his armpit. As a last resort, Hannibal headbutted Tobias and he tipped backwards slightly but it was enough for you to become unbalanced, afraid and unconfident, and your grip loosened. You fell from his back but managed to tear off good hunks of fat and muscle from Tobias’ neck as you fell.

Hannibal threw him on his office desk and Tobias grabbed a letter opener. Your head pulsed wildly and your ears rang as you sat up from the floor. Your back was definitely bleeding, it was cut up: glass, from the table. It felt like little fires being stoked from each muscle group, individually being lit and growing in heat and ferocity. The bones of your upper spine and neck felt out of place, painful and grinding. 

The sound of wood splintering brought you out of your pain and into the present. Hannibal had barreled Tobias over his desk and Tobias was taking swipes at the doctor with the letter opener, golden blade glinting in the light. That’s when it occurred to you that you still had your house keys in your bag. The fallen bag was so close, too. The floorboards creaked as you crawled over to your burlap bag, protesting their recent abuse. A moan of pain echoed and it sounded like Hannibal. You heard someone landing on the desk and prayed that it wasn’t Hannibal. You fumbled with the strap on your bag and finally got it to open, slotting the keys in between your fingers like your friends had taught you to do when you walk the streets at night. Metal claws. 

When you turned around Tobias was struggling with Hannibal, trying to pierce his flesh with the letter opener. You stumbled to your feet and, with your makeshift weapon at ready, pounced onto Tobias like a cat does to a mouse. He was quick as well, and he ripped his arm out of Hannibal’s tight grasp and slashed the blade at you. Pain seared over you and you screamed. Hot blood seeped from a gash that spread from your right frontal deltoid through the thin flesh over your sternum and tapered off near your armpit at the upper pectoral muscle on your left side. It burned like hell.

Hannibal grabbed a pen and stabbed Tobias’ arm and began his offensive attack, but again Tobias was too quick. He kicked Hannibal back and the two shared a moment of violent dance, harsh blows landing on soft flesh and bone meeting bone. You knew the bleeding wouldn’t stop down your chest and that there was no time to stop it anyway. You stood shakily and readied the keys in your hand. Normally you’re a pacifist, but when push comes to shove you do not go gentle into that good night. You blaze like fire and rage against the dying of the light.

Tobias had Hannibal cornered, had kicked him up against the ladder of his study and he was bleeding from his nose and mouth. He saw you on the other side of the room and made eye contact with you. It was like some gear had clicked into place because suddenly you understood what you needed to do. You got the unspoken message from Hannibal and you were more than ready to deliver. Your stomach heaved with each breath and you could smell the coppery twinge that each heave brought. You prowled like some great member of the feline family: softly, deliberately, and as Tobias sent his fist on a path to main Hannibal, you slanted the keys upward into his back until you felt his flesh drag with the force of your stab, the metal scraping the back of his ribcage. He howled and his hand missed Hannibal as Hannibal dodged, and his howling did not stop when Hannibal snapped his arm backwards at the elbow. 

The keys drew out with a wet and unpleasant sound and you were not satisfied. You stabbed Tobias once more for good measure, the muscle of his back tearing under the maleficent, dull edge of your keys. You stumbled backwards with relief. Your own muscles were so tense you were trembling but that might have been the adrenaline. Pain was beginning to flood your body more than ever and you ached more than you had ever ached in your life. 

Tobias swung a few his unbroken arm at Hannibal a few times and you were annoyed. He had been ignoring you from the moment you threw hot tea at him. Were you only an accessory of Hannibal’s to him? He had slashed some very important muscles- or at least the ones that were prettier- and had the gall to flat out ignore you in favor of Hannibal? You knew your thought process was messed up: vain, narcissistic. But it didn’t matter. You were in pain and angry, rightfully so. You landed a blow to the side of Tobias’ head and he uttered a pitiful sound. Hannibal caught him on the throat with a blow of his own and he fell to the ground, spluttering, trying to breath. 

You whined, voice hoarse and tired, and Hannibal was soon at your side. He embraced you passionately and when you groaned from the agony of having your wound pressed upon, he stepped back and held your face in his battered hands. 

“You are absolutely stunning.” He was in awe, outrageously proud. Your head was too fogged up to see how appalling the situation was. You grinned stupidly. He smiled, teeth bloody. A choked laugh came from you and you wanted to cradle his face desperately but a sudden shock of wet electricity coursed through your arm. You almost couldn’t lift your arm up through the pain of it. It was almost half the distance to his face but the pain was too much and your arm fell limp to your side. Tobias kept coughing and it was ruining the tender moment.

Hannibal pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and picked up a statue of an elk. He raised it above his head before hesitating. 

“Would you care to do the honors?” He said, offering the heavy looking piece of metal to you. You did, you really did, but your arm wouldn’t lift.

“I’d love to. Can you help me out a bit?”  
“Gladly.”

You dropped your keys and lifted your arm as high as it would go; your left arm was much more useful. The tips of your fingers skimmed the bottom of the handkerchief and you felt it as gravity pulled it down as the velocity of Hannibal’s throw made it hit Tobias sickly over the head. When he fell over, dead, Hannibal dropped the small monument to the ground and tipped over the table it rested on. 

You laughed a short and mirthless laugh and collapsed on a chair. Hannibal limped over to you and pressed a kiss to your temple and you managed to kiss the column of his throat. He walked out of your sight and you heard a harpsichord begin to play. Your eyes were heavy and you closed them just for a second, just one second, to rest.

“This is all I ever wanted for you. For us.” You opened your eyes to the sound of his voice. “Do you like it?”

Your tired body protested to even resting, still bleeding and weak. The words tumbled through your mind but you didn’t need to even think to answer.

“I love it.”

  
  
  


When you woke, the FBI was in the room, taking photographs and examining evidence. You had fallen asleep. Hannibal sat in his chair and he was talking to a man wearing glasses and stubble on his cheeks. He looked up at him in a way you couldn’t describe, but the way his eyes shone led you to believe it was something akin to reverence. A larger man spoke.

“Tobias Budge killed two Baltimore police officers, nearly killed an FBI special agent, and after all of that, his first stop is here, at your office.” He spoke to Hannibal.

“He came to kill my patient.”

“Your patient. Is that who Budge was serenading?” The man with the glasses asked.

“I don’t know. Franklyn knew more than he was telling me. He told Mr. Budge that he didn’t have to kill anymore. And then he broke Franklyn’s neck and then he attacked me…” Hannibal trailed off, looking distant. What a liar. Could no one in the room smell the obvious perfume of deceit radiating from him? But you would act none the wiser, of course. Truly, you didn’t know what exactly transpired before you entered the room but you knew that Hannibal killed the dead man and Tobias wanted you both dead. That was enough to make the doctor a liar. But you would stand by his side no matter what he threw your way. 

“You killed him?” The large man asked to clarify.

The words died on Hannibal’s lips as they left but they were in the affirmative. 

The man with the glasses spoke again, “Could Franklyn have been involved in whatever Budge was doing?”

“I thought this was a simple matter of poor choice in friends.” Hannibal’s statement sounded defeated, even to you. What a great actor he was. You loved it.

“This doesn’t feel simple to me.” The large man said. He noticed you stirring from the corner of his eye.

 

“Hello,” He said. “My name is Agent Jack Crawford and I have some questions to ask you.” You struggled to muster up a polite smile and introduced yourself. Agent Crawford sat kneeled at your feet, assuming a comforting stance.

“Can you tell me what happened here?” 

  
  


Your story was what Hannibal’s probably was, but more truthful. You told him you came to his office from work, that you wanted to surprise him but you were the one surprised. You left out all the parts about Tobias telling you that Hannibal was a murderer, but left the part when he said he killed the man from the orchestra. Almost everything was the truth. You ached so dully and so painfully. Pure agony. 

The hardest question came.

“What is your connection to Dr. Lecter?” Crawford stared up into your eyes and you faltered. 

“I’m…” You licked your lips and glanced towards Hannibal. He was talking to the man with the glasses and that unidentifiable look was still on his face. You wanted to kiss it off and make him look at only you like that.

“I’m not entirely sure…” Crawford’s brow raised at that.

“Why not?” He asked, ready to catch you in a lie as he was trained to do, as he was an expert in doing.

“I think we’re... partners,” The word sounded clumsy in your mouth, “But we’ve never talked about it. We are close, at the least.” You felt embarrassment creeping up your neck like a hot blush- was that a hot blush? You weren’t some virgin schoolkid, you were an adult, why were you blushing?

“How would you define ‘close’?” Crawford sensed your embarrassment; he would have been blind not to. “It’s alright.” He placed a comforting hand over yours.

“We have been,” You didn’t want to say anything Hannibal didn’t think but you didn’t want to lie either, “romantically involved. I don’t think we are partners, though…” You trailed off. Hannibal was still looking at that guy like he was the greatest thing since sliced bread. It stirred up something dark within you, something ugly and bitter, and it made you want to beat it back into the depths from which it came.  _ ‘Huh _ .’ You realized. ‘ _ Is this jealousy? _ ’

Soon the questions were over and an EMT examined your wounds. There was glass in your back and most of your body but you would need stitches across your arm and chest. The gentle, young man explained that the wound wasn’t a stab but a slash: not deep and thin but shallow and wide. The bleeding had mostly stopped too, attributed to the shallowness of the wound. 

As you were being escorted out to the ambulance that was parked outside, you couldn’t help but look back at Hannibal once last time. He was still talking to that man. He must’ve felt your eyes on him because he turned around. His eyes met yours and something must have changed in your face because the smile he gave you was almost  _ pitying _ . The man with the glasses also smiled, but his was awkward and obligatory. It was a grimace. 

How wretched. 

You couldn’t bear to look at anyone again. Eyes glued to the floor you left the building bleeding, in tortuous agony. Something told you- that same little, foul voice that wouldn’t forget about the death in the clothing alteration shop- that this wasn’t over and it wouldn’t be over for a very, very long time. Cold envy, contempt, and fury tossed in your stomach like a violent ocean and you knew that this would not be the last life you’ve taken because you loved Hannibal. You would do anything he asked. If he wanted someone dead, they would soon be dead. If he wanted you dead, then you’d better confess your sins and hope to be forgiven because you would ask ‘How?’ and end your life to his liking. You were sure of your feelings for him now. He was the only person that respected you, that opened doors that would have otherwise been permanently sealed shut. Hannibal had taught you so many things that no one else would have even bothered to think of teaching you. It was almost uncanny, how quickly you had become dependent- no,  _ obedient _ , for him. 

He had you hook, line, and sinker. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha wild yeah?  
> soup recipe: http://www.bonappetit.com/recipe/double-dark-chicken-noodle-soup  
> also, "mieloji" means "dear" in Lithuania but idk how accurate that is lol
> 
>    
> I'm thinking of making this a Hannibal/reader/Will fic. What do you think? Leave a comment
> 
> leave a comment and kudos if you liked! ~


	3. friends with the devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exclusion into inclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol sorry this is a day late but I had no idea where to go form the last chapter :/ I forgot to plan it... but this chapter is just building up some backstory for the next so don't worry! Sorry it's so short *^*

It had been a few weeks since you helped to kill Tobias Budge. You weren’t as guilty as you thought you would be. Not nearly as guilty as when you killed that thief. Fear had set in quickly when you realized that, _hey, maybe you were getting used to this._  
Your shoulder and chest were scarred, the skin a little lighter, a little pinker, than the rest of you. A little stiff. It was a shame that those pretty muscles had to get all cut up. You got most of the movement and strength back. Hell, you were probably stronger than before. You felt...revitalised. Like those gory tragedies somehow molted the gray shell of who you used to be. The new you as strangely calm and complacent. You felt like you were standing on a lake in the middle of nowhere, standing on thin ice, but not falling through. Like you were in a haze. Everything was dreamy and mild now.  
In the weeks following the murders, Hannibal didn’t make any extra measures to meet you nor did he make any to avoid you. He acted like every day after you helped him kill a man was as average as every day before it. The same amount of kisses and cuddles but nothing more, nothing less. No phone calls to see if you were alright. No surprise house visits bringing over dinner and dessert. No extra work visits to cheer up your day. You thought Hannibal would be more concerned. You thought that he would act more like he did when you killed the thief. He wasn’t acting like that.  
Fortunately, someone did care. That man from the FBI, the man that you felt unbearably envious of, he cared. He visited you at the hospital. Introduced himself as Will Graham and brought a box of chocolates. He said Hannibal told him you liked chocolates. You asked why Hannibal didn’t come and Will said Hannibal took some time off work to get away from his office, from who died in his office. You didn’t believe that excuse for a second. Hannibal said that, sure, but you could tell Hannibal enjoyed the fight. If he didn’t take time off that would be suspicious, you guessed.   
The company of Will was nice. The FBI checked in every once in awhile, asking questions, asking for answers. Will came to see how you were doing. He must get attached to cases easily. He came every couple days, then every day. He enjoyed conversation and dark humor. You two were just alike. He wasn’t as sophisticated as Hannibal and neither were you. _He enjoyed simple things: animals, a warm fire, a belly full of good food and good drink._ After you were released from the hospital, he invited you over to his house. You spent hours fishing. You’ve never went fishing before so it was a new and pleasantly amusing experience. Will caught three large fish and one medium sized one and you caught two medium sized fish. Will said they were safe to eat and he gutted them for you but you cooked them for him. It was the least you could do after he taught you how to fish, you said. His face was flushed and you guessed it was from the beer he drank. He sure did know how to have a good time.  
As you cooked for Will, you realised you had picked up some skills from Hannibal. You didn’t burn food as much as before and you didn’t break things as much as before. You were more agile. You huffed out a small laugh as you tossed filets of fish into a hot buttered pan.  
“What’s so funny?” Will asked. He was petting Winston. Winston quickly became your favorite. Such a curious and friendly dog he was.   
“Nothing. Just thinking how much I’ve learned from Hannibal.” Will quieted a little at that and you went on. “See, Hannibal and I met at my job. You would’ve thought a man like him could do anything but that’s not true. I hem clothes, fix ‘em up whenever my boss needs help or doesn’t want to deal with customers-” Will snorted, “- and she was in a bad mood the day Hannibal came in. He’s been a loyal customer for a while but I just didn’t want him to deal with her at the moment. I handled business and Hannibal kept coming back. Small adjustments on his suit every once in awhile and whenever he got a new one, which was more frequent than you would think.  
Eventually we got closer and I bumped into him at the supermarket. He was looking for cheese. I can’t even begin to pronounce what he was ordering, but the clerk didn’t have it. Cheese selection is not very good where I shop. So I called over, ‘Hey, Dr. Lecter!’ and he turned around and looked like someone whacked him with a hot poker! Looking back on it, it’s hysterical!” Will was laughing more than he probably should have, poor boy was drunk.   
“Anyway, I took him to a little cheese shop I knew that had some delicious choices. It was a little pricey but worth it. Hannibal said the store he usually went to closed down. Not too many people buy fancy cheeses anymore, didn’t you know?  
So I bought something too so it wouldn’t be too awkward. Aged gouda, a year old. Always get the same thing. I’m not one for adventuring the world of cheese.” The fish on the skillet sizzled and you squeezed the juice of some lemon you found in Will’s fridge. What a cutie, he must not be that good of a cook, lemons don’t have to go in the fridge.   
“But Hannibal invited me over for a glass of wine and I went ‘Sure, why not?’ and had the best goddamn glass of wine I’ve had in my life.”  
Will’s head was lolling on his shoulders with laugher. Man, was he _smashed_. You smiled. It’s been awhile since you’ve had such pleasant, casual company. Everything was fancy and formal with Hannibal. You loved him, sure, but you felt a little pressured to have to be so neat with him. You weren’t built to be neat.  
It was comforting to know that Hannibal loved someone as messy as Will. Of course he loved Will. No one looks at someone with that much reverence if they don’t love them. And you felt fine with this, you told yourself, it’s not fair to want Hannibal all to yourself. The man never said you were committed. Casual relationships could be fun too.  
The fish was done and you put it on plates. Will’s fridge was woefully lacking in side dishes. He didn’t even have any rice in his kitchen! Not any you could find at least. You found some lettuce that was only beginning to wilt and some nice tomatoes. It probably wouldn’t match but having only fish wouldn’t be too fun.   
You served Will lemon and garlic buttered fish. Not the best thing to eat but it tasted fine. Will ate it ravenously.   
“This is delicious.” He said, immediately after swallowing a mouthful of it. You weren’t sure if he was really chewing. “You really must have picked up some skills from Hannibal.” You laughed. If only he knew the extent of things you picked up from Hannibal.   
“So how do you know him?” You asked, reaching over to pet Winston. He laid on his side under the table between you and Will. Will’s chewing slowed down slightly.  
“He helps me when I’m having trouble in cases. He was assigned to me, actually- did you know I’m a teacher at the FBI?” Will changed the topic, obviously not that comfortable in talking about his relationship with Hannibal.   
“Really?”  
“Yeah. It’s not as exciting as you would think.” You both laugh softly but it dies out and all the sound that’s left in the room is the soft whining of the dogs, the scrape and gentle clatter of silverware on ceramic plates, and the crackle of the fire. It’s so calm and peaceful and wonderful.

  
Soon, you’re finished and he’s finished and the dishes are in the sink. A chore for later. Right now, the pressing issue is that you only have two arms and there are just too many dogs to cuddle at the same time. Will slides on the floor before you do, giving you your cue. You slide down as well and hook your arms around Winston, burying your face in his shaggy neck and sighing. You’ve been under tremendous stress and no one’s been around to relieve it. You haven’t even had a shoulder to cry on. No wonder animals are such great companions, you thought. _Always a caring soul to comfort but never the heart to judge._   
A loud yelp was what got you to raise your head and when you did, Will was trying to wrestle all his other dogs to settle down by him, all at once. You couldn’t help but snicker at him; he was too cute! No wonder Hannibal was so in love with him. Maybe you wouldn’t get in the way of Hannibal and Will. Maybe you were just meant to watch them grow closer and you would stand on the side, just as you’ve always done. Hannibal was a grown man and the heart wants what it wants.

  
 _But you want Hannibal._  
  
You shook your head clear. Enough of that depressing talk! Live in the moment. Winston slipped out of your grip and padded across the short distance between you and Will to lie across his lap. His tail thumped contentedly on the floor. You smiled wistfully at them. Even animals were leaving you. You couldn’t blame them though, Will was their owner, after all. It always hurt, just a little, when animals left.  
“Won’t you come closer?” Will asked you with hopeful eyes when he noticed you were by your lonesome. You opened your mouth to refuse but you stopped when you realised you had no reason to.  
“Here,” Will said as he stood up and grabbed a wool blanket from one his lounging chair. The dogs circled him eagerly. “Isn’t that better?” He laid the blanket over himself and held one end up for you to lay under as well, right next to him.  
You gladly scooted under the blanket to enjoy his company and the warmth it offered. The dogs were quite happy as well, clambering over both of you to get comfy. What a nice moment. You imagined the click! of a camera in your mind and the slow rolling out of a polaroid; you would save this moment forever, a treasured memory. Your eyes slid closed. It was too comfortable, too perfect. The sudden, timid pressure of an arm creeping around your shoulder startled you awake. Will was trying to pull you closer. You stole a glance at his face and he was looking dead ahead at the fireplace, the orange glow of it casting dark contrasts on his face. You hummed happily and leaned into him, resting your cheek against his chest and feeling him jump slightly. He pulled the blanket around the two of you tightly. What a nice moment. Animals, a warm fire, and a belly full of good food and good drink. That’s the life.  
  
“You know, you’re pretty masculine, aren’t you?” You whispered sleepily.  
“What?” Will asked, laughter breaking in and out of his speech.  
“Yeah, you know? You dress like a lumberjack, you have dogs, you live in a wood cabin. You fish and you have this super masculine scruff on your face that most people I know would’ve shaved clean off or let it just grow out already.” Volume slowly rising, becoming a rant. Will just chuckled. Maybe you were drunk too.  
“Oh yeah?”  
“Yeah… But you know what ruins it for you?” You told him, shifting out of his grasp to look at him closely and his hand naturally fell to your waist.  
“What?”  
“Your face. Your pretty face. I don’t know how many men, women even, I’ve met that have a face as pretty as yours. You could be a model,” Will’s face was absolutely the deepest red you’ve ever seen and he was in hysterics with laughter, “A lumberjack model!” Now the both of you were in peals of laughter. The loud ring of his phone cut through your laughter and he immediately grabbed his phone, fumbling slightly as it fell from its spot on the chair behind him.   
“Will.”  
He nodded and grunted softly to whatever the person on the other end was saying. He sighed. “Alright. Pick me up then.” After he hung up he sighed again and sat in silence with his eyes closed. Animals, a warm fire, a belly full of good food and good drink.   
He turned to you, his eyes full of sincere regret and embarrassment. “I’m so, so sorry, but something happened at work. I need to go.” His hand was on your shoulder again and his fingers were carding through your hair. Was he getting closer?  
“Alright.” You spoke and the moment was gone. “I’ll head home then.” You made a move to stand but Will stopped you. He raised an eyebrow at you and you tilted your head to the side.  
“You’re drunk.”  
“Says you.”  
“Yeah, takes one to know one.”  
A competitive silence stretched through the room until you both couldn’t bear it and giggled like school children.   
“You can stay here for tonight.” Will patted your shoulder. “I don’t think I’ll be back until tomorrow morning anyway. You don’t have to worry about anything.”

  
The sound of a car pulling up in the driveway.   
“Got to go.” And Will left you alone in his house with his dogs, a warm fire, and a belly full of good food and good drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy it? Comment what you like or what can be improved!


	4. fragility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slowly, everything went back to normal. Until it didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha hey, guys! So this chapters short bc i got a headache (what's up w my health recently???) but that doesn't mean i'm going to stop bc of that! The second chapter for tonight should be up before midnight but idk lol. I got Feeding Hannibal, the cookbook for my birthday!! And I tweeted it and tagged janice poon and????She answered me???!?!?! It was amazing and i can die happy knowing a woman that touched mads mikkelsen's beautiful face spoke to a lowly peasant such as i

Hannibal had become less estranged with you as time passed. You assumed he had been busy when he left you by your lonesome after you both killed Tobias Budge. With his departure, Will Graham had entered your sphere of influence and quickly became a friend. He was… Kind. A little strange, a little dark, but he understood you and you felt like you could understand him as well, to a certain point, at least. 

 

Hannibal had invited you to dinner a few weeks after the murder. He apologized for his behavior and said he had to sort out his feelings about getting you involved with the murder. You were sure he was sorting out his feelings, but not about the murder. Maybe he came to terms with what he felt for Will, what he must have felt for Will. Maybe his feelings for you. Maybe for you both. You were sure about how he felt about murder, though. He liked it. You could tell. The way he moved that day, each swing of his fist and sharp kick was filled with an animalistic fury. Fury wasn’t the right word but nothing else could compare to the power that he held within him. It was stronger than any passion you’ve ever seen and burned brighter than any anger you’ve ever felt. It was inhuman.

 

Hannibal had served a meal with more courses than you could remember;  _ he was celebrating something _ , a voice in the back of your mind said,  _ and you know what it is _ . It was a gaudy, lavish meal. You remembered eating scallops and rare imported meats and sugared roses. Everything from that night was dreamy. 

 

One night around three in the morning, you received a call from Will begging you to come to his house. When you arrived he was the smallest you’ve ever seen him; eyes sunken in around dark rings, hair limp and dull, nails bitten to bleeding. His voice was shrill and high when he cried for you as you stepped through his door, nailless hands scrabbling at the front of your coat and tears wetting your neck. His gray shirt was black and damp with sweat. Mumbling something, shouting something, over and over but never comprehensible. As he calmed down with your arms wrapped tightly around him, carding your fingers through his hair and murmuring soft, sweet nothings to him, he began to speak in understandable sentences.

 

“I...I can’t…I-I don’t know what’s, what’s real an’, and what not- I, I can’t,” and he would dissolve into sobs and moans before he could get another word out. You held the trembling Will throughout the night. You laid him down to sleep when his tremors began to lessen and he slept fitfully. He woke from nightmares constantly, whimpering and gasping, and you would place an ice cold cloth over his forehead and whisper to him that it was all a dream, that you were there for him. He’d grasp your hand and not loosen his grip until he fell back asleep. You pitied him.

 

The next morning he didn’t wake until early afternoon and he didn’t remember anything from the night before.

  
  


“I understand you and Will are close now, are you not?” Hannibal questioned as he walked you down the sidewalk after work. The street lights blew out again and he didn’t want you walking alone in the dark. It was laughable, really. Kill two men and still unable to defend yourself? What a joke. Hannibal was just concerned for you, you convinced yourself. 

“Yeah.” You said, “He’s sweet.” 

“I hope you’re not thinking of leaving me for Will. It’d put quite a roadblock between our therapy and friendship.” Hannibal joked. You smiled. 

“No, I don’t think anyone could ever steal him away from you.” You answered. You heard a soft breath whistle through his nose. He didn’t respond.

“Will’s really important to you, isn’t he? More than just a doctor-patient relationship, isn’t it? When you saw him, the day when- you know,  _ that- _ you had this look on your face of, of  _ awe _ . Of pure adoration. Worship. I’m amazed, really,” You turned to face him. You were sincere. “Why don’t you just tell him you love him?”

Hannibal’s expression turned almost defiant, “I don’t-”

“Oh please,” You laughed, “Don’t deny it. I’m fine if you don’t like me as you like him. I get it. Who wouldn’t, right?”

“You’d be surprised.” A comfortable silence washed over you and you focused on the chill biting at your nose. It was dark out and the snow had stopped falling as heavily as before. It didn’t get warm enough to melt yet, though. Just cold enough to keep the snow from melting and just warm enough to stop the sky from freezing. The stillness of stability, the fragility of life. It was to be savoured. 

 

Hannibal wrapped an arm around your waist and drew you in but neither of your stopped walking. 

“I love both you and Will. It is unfair to judge a fish for its ability to climb a tree. Just the same, I don’t believe I’m capable of judging who I enjoy and care for more, you or Will. I love you both.” The words clouded the air and drifted up to the sky in white patches. 

“I don’t know if I love Will but I know I’m intoxicated by you.” You said. It was the truth.

Hannibal stopped walking and held you by the shoulders. One hand slid up your neck to rub at the hinge of your jaw and the pulse in your throat. Hannibal looked as if he would cry.

“I could ask for nothing more.”

He tasted pleasant and so distinctly Hannibal: sugar, ice, and iron. Your eyes fluttered closed. You would never grow tired of kissing him like this. His other hand drew up and tangled in your hair and your nails settled softly into his back and shoulder. What a lovely, deadly man.

The honk of a car horn caused you to jump and you cut your bottom lip on Hannibal’s teeth. An old car sputtered as it drove by and inside a group of college students laughed. Hannibal wrapped a strong arm around your shoulders as you buried your face in his chest. He followed the car with a gaze of cold anger. How rude. When the car was gone he lifted your face by the chin and ran a thumb over your bloody lip, mummering an apology. He raised his hand and ran the bloodied thumb over his lower lip and his tongue darted out to meet it. He licked the red from his lips and dark eyes bored into yours. You blushed furiously and ducked your head back into his chest and he chuckled and wrapped you in a tight hug. This man would be the death of you.

  
  


“Hey, how are you?” Will’s voice came through the receiver fuzzy, distorted.

“I’m good. But I haven’t seen you enough lately! Where’ve you been?” You asked him childishly. A heavy sigh came through the other end. He sounded drained. 

“In hell, that’s where. I haven’t been… feeling myself lately… Sometimes I lose time and I can’t-” His voice cracked, “remember where I was, or what I was doing… I lost an entire day at work, a couple of days ago, I drove, but I can’t remember driving

“I’m afraid I’m a danger to others, to myself,” he paused, “To you.”

Silence reigned for a little while before a self-deprecating laugh from Will rang out, bitter and soft. “Sorry, that was weird, wasn’t it?”

“No,” You told Will, “It’s fine.” You paused, wondering if it would be wrong for you to question Will’s therapy since you were involved with Hannibal. You held the phone tighter to your ear with your shoulder. You pinned the pants legs of a business suit to where the customer needed it to be to fit correctly.

“Will, if your therapy isn’t working, maybe you should go to a doctor. This doesn’t sound healthy.” 

“No- No, it’s,” Will stuttered, “I think it’s working. Just some very,” He hesitated. “Disturbing stuff has been going on. I’ve been under a lot of stress, I’ll be fine.” 

“No, Will.” You said firmly. “You’re not fine. If you’re missing time, you’re not fine. What has Hannibal said about this?”

“He’s helping me, I’m  _ fine _ .” Will snapped. “He’d tell me if I wasn’t… I’m just tired, I’m fine.” His breath was shaky. He could almost hear your displeasure at his reluctance to open up. “Hey, look,” He started, “I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to lash out like that it’s just been really rough for me lately and I- oh,” His voice sounded further away. “I’m really sorry, but I’m getting a work call right now. I’ll call you back as soon as I can.” 

 

You were barely able to say goodbye before you heard the loud beep of your call being disconnected. You took the cell off your ear and stared at the call log screen for a little bit. You missed Will. You missed him being happy. Granted, it hasn’t been very long since you’ve met but you’ve grown incredibly close to him in that small amount of time. Something just clicked between you. You laughed at the thought of both of you being drawn to the other out of the shared experience of loneliness and isolation. Two broken people, huh? You stole a glance at the clock. It was late afternoon. Outside, a light cover of snow had dusted the streets and it kept falling. You cast a longing glance at your coat and reminded yourself to talk to Hannibal about Will’s therapy soon. The poor boy wasn’t doing so well. At the thought of Hannibal, you sighed. You were a lovestruck fool, that’s what you were. Less possessive now, knowing who Will was, but just as hopeless as ever.

 

The next morning’s news was plastered with pictures of Abel Gideon’s face. Armed and dangerous, the reporters said. Killed several nurses and transport guards on his way to a trial. Escaped. Insane.  _ ‘Oh _ ,’ You thought, ‘ _ This must be the call Will got yesterday. _ ’ 


	5. dirge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lights flashed, sirens wailed, and Abel Gideon was on the loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! sorry I'm still little behind, but at least I'm technically still posting on a sunday! I'm actually flying over to seattle for christmas break so I'm hoping to write the next chapter on the plane! Hope you enjoy this one!

Abel Gideon’s face was plastered all over the news. Wanted signs on lampposts and newspaper stands, radio announcements, more worried news casters regurgitating information over and over again. Police cars have been rolling up and down the streets constantly for hours and citizens were warned about staying out late and to travel in groups. In Baltimore, panic reigned.

 

Will had texted you saying everything was going to be fine and that’s how you knew it wasn’t going to be fine. He said he was going to visit Dr. Lecter that night and that after all this had blown over he wanted to take you out to dinner ( _ as friends _ , he emphasized). 

  
  


“Hannibal, are you sure you’re doing all you can for Will?” You reclined on a couch in Hannibal’s sitting room. A fire was going and your bare feet were warm. Hannibal had a glass of wine on the table next to him and ran his fingers absent-mindedly through your hair.

“I assure you, my dear, I am.” He leaned his head on the top of yours. “Sometimes patients need a little more time and a little less push.”

“But Will isn’t one of those patients, is he?”

“No,” He took a sip of wine, “What Will needs is to accept his situation and move with it. He is going against the grain and all this strain is hurting him badly. I wish, as his friend, that he would see what he has right in front of him.” You glanced up at him.

“Are we what’s right in front of Will?”

“Yes.”

You looped your little finger with Hannibal’s and toyed with his hand. It was large and warm. Hannibal sighed and grasped your hand in his. He brought it up to his lips, slowly to make sure you were watching, and kissed the back of your palm. You threw your head back, not wanted to see (but you  _ really _ wanted to see) and to hide your pink face. The grip on your hand squeezed gently and Hannibal laughed. You were glad that he felt comfortable enough with you to lounge like this. It was so domestic. 

 

The next day you met with Will. You brought him a homemade lunch- chicken and rice- because you knew he wouldn’t be taking care of himself on this case. You waited outside the FBI building you knew he taught at, waiting for him to leave. It didn’t take long. Leave one job, off to the next. 

“Will!” You shouted as you saw him walk to his car. He turned, startled. When he saw you his face lit up but he was already worn down by the day, dark circles and too bright eyes. 

“Hey,” He said, called your name, “What’re you doing here?” You smiled and held out the lunch to him. He didn’t react for a moment until you shook it and he looked like he woke up from a daydream. He quickly grabbed it. 

“What is this?”

“Lunch.”

He looked up at you from the opened bag. “You didn’t have to do this for me.”

“But I wanted to.”

Will seemed to be at a loss for words. He didn’t have many friends. Not many people to care for him. Luckily, you and Hannibal would be more than enough to compensate.

Will pulled you in a tight hug, more for his sake than yours. He buried his head in your hair and- did he smell your hair?- sighed. His skin was damp: sweat. You wrapped your arms around him as much as you could, around his waist, and laughed. He was such a sweet man. Almost an uncomfortable amount of time passed by before he let go but you didn’t mind. You could see he was falling apart.

“How are you feeling, Will?” You asked him. You hoped he didn’t say ‘fine’.

“I’m fine.” He answered, not looking in your eyes. You frowned.

“Will…”

“No, I’m sorry, I-” He licked his lips. “I feel like I’m-”

You brought your hands up his arms, rubbing comforting circles with your thumb in the crook of his elbow and he let out a jitter sigh.

“I feel fluid. Like I’m spilling or- I don’t know, I think I’m coming down with something.” He shook his head. You smiled, not out of happiness, but out of that soft pity one gets from seeing a small, cute animal stumble when they try to stand. You reach into your backpack and dig through it for a while and Will leaned up against his car. You soon find what you’re looking for as he draws his keys out of his pocket. 

“Here,” You say, “Vitamin C.” And hand him a rolled up packet of little orange tablets. He laughs a little and takes it from you. His expression gone soft, he looks at you once more, actually meeting your eyes this time. You want to look away now, you  _ need _ to look away. But you don’t. 

“Thank you.” He said, his voice soft and tired. “I’m so sorry, but I have to go. I’m, y’know…”

“Yeah. I know.” He was talking about Abel Gideon.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“No need.” You said and tuck a curl of hair behind Will’s ear. He had the softest, most beautiful hair you had ever seen. You rubbed the slope of his cheekbone as you bring your hand down and noticed that he was unusually warm. Body stiff, Will stood rod straight and you realized he was blushing. He still felt too warm.

You wrapped him in one last tight hug and said goodbye, waving as you watched his car pull out of the parking lot.

 

 

“Hello.” Hannibal greeted you as he opened the door. It was nighttime, and fresh snow lay on the ground. 

“Hi, honey.” You stepped in the door and stood on your tiptoes to kiss Hannibal on the cheek. You had to put your hands on his shoulders to help pull you up as leverage. He laughed. God, he was tall. He kissed your cheek in return.

“Are you ready for dinner?” He took your coat and you smoothed your shirt.

“I’m ready for anything when it comes to you.”

Hannibal smirked and raised an inquisitive eyebrow at your cheeky response and you laughed. Things were comfortable again. 

“Well, you had better be ready to help me cook because I haven’t started yet. I thought you might want to help tonight.” Hannibal place a hand on the small of your back and you leaned into his side.

“I’d be more than happy to.” You giggled, and ran a sly finger down the lapel of his pressed suit. Hannibal watched you. You were getting bolder.

 

 

Hannibal had poured drinks for you and they sat on the counter, sweating on plain black coasters. A fillet of rabbit sat on his counter and he was mixing some herb seasoning to rub on it. You’d never had rabbit before and Hannibal decided to remedy that.

The bright lights in the kitchen bounced off the crisp whiteness of his apron. He had a soft soundtrack playing, a string quartet. It was romantic. Nursing your glass, you watched him move in the kitchen. Admiring the view. He had such a strong, muscular back. You bit your lip. Here he was, slaving over the stove and here you were, ogling him. You wouldn’t complain, and you were almost certain he knew what you were up to.

“Are you working hard over there, darling?” He teased you and glanced over his shoulder. You flushed and realized he was right in front of a large mixing bowl, polished like a mirror. He knew. 

The doorbell rang and you were both interrupted. Your nose scrunched up a little and Hannibal had a frown on his face. You reached over and paused the music so Hannibal could get the door. The knife he held clattered quietly on the countertop when he placed it and you waltzed over to where he stood and wrapped your arms around his waist. He trailed his hands over yours.

“The door.”

Oh, right. You leaned back and untied his apron, then pinched his side playfully. He slapped your hand away gently; tonight, you were quite forward. Dominant. He liked that. He shot a scandalous glance your way as he headed for the door. You trotted after him like an obedient puppy. You peeked around the corner as he opened the door.

You couldn’t see past his broad, gorgeous back but you did see the slight hesitation in his movement; he was surprised. Who was at the door? You leaned in a little more and stepped back, letting whoever it was in. You frowned. Who would interrupt your dinner, unannounced?

Wanted escaped killer, Abel Gideon, stepped through the threshold with a gun to his back held by Will Graham. Well. That was a surprize.

 

You stood next to, or rather, behind Hannibal. Will was in the center of the dining room and sitting at the head of the table, framed by glass sliding doors and snow drifts, was Dr. Gideon. Will was shaking, sweating, eyes rolling up in his head, hallucinating. You were worried.

“I’m having a hard time thinking.” He said. Heavy breaths caused a delay in his speech. “I feel like I’m losing my mind. I-I don’t know what’s real.” Will shuddered.

Gideon seemed not to care less as his eyes wandered around the room, searching for dust to fall because that would surely be more interesting for him.

Hannibal pulled up his suit sleeve to tell the time, “It’s 7:27 P.M. You’re in Baltimore, Maryland, and your name is Will Graham.”

“No, I don’t care who I am!” Will shouted, “Just tell me…” You followed the path of a drop of sweat that rolled down his neck. You wanted to shy away from this whole situation, to grasp the back of Hannibal’s suit as tightly as you could and shut your eyes to this strange charade that was taking place, but the gun in Will’s hand looked heavy and ready to lose some lead weight and you weren’t taking the risk of catching him off guard.

Will aimed the gun at Gideon, “...if he’s real.” You swallowed heavily. Was Will having an episode? Hannibal seemed to understand something. 

“Who do you see, Will?”

Will’s breathing came in shallow, ragged gasps. He was trembling. He whispered, “Garret Jacob Hobbs.” The gun shook, “Who do you see?”

From your perspective, you could see Hannibal’s jawline and a sliver of his eye. He stared straight at Will. He didn’t falter when he said, “I don’t see anyone.”

Will’s face snapped back to face him then his panicked eyes flew down to you, as if seeing you for the first time. As if he was seeing you clearly. He called you name and you could hear his voice shake.

“Who do you see?”

The breath caught in your chest; what were you supposed to see? What were you supposed to say? Hannibal’s slow blink and steady glance at you assured you.

“I…” You said. Will looked so frightened, so alone. “I see no one.”

 

Will’s face broke and his voice hitched. “No, he’s right there.”

“There’s no one there, Will.”

“No,” He cried, “no, you’re lying.”

“Will, please, put the gun down, there’s no one there.” You begged. It hurt to lie to him, to see him in so much pain. Lying never felt this bad before it never stung so bad oh god why did it sting now?

“We’re alone. You came here alone. Do you remember coming here?” Hannibal’s voice was steady and professional. It seemed as if he had known how to deal with this, if he had this situation in a handbook labeled  _ ‘How To Deal With Psychotic Patients And Their Hostages: For Dummies _ ’ and he was taking every step by the book.

“No, please don’t lie to me!” Will cried, his voice raising an octave and quivering. You felt a dampness on your face and realized you had begun to cry, when had you started crying?

“Garret Jacob Hobbs is dead-”

“Please, Will.” You pleaded but you didn’t know what for.

“You killed him. You watched him die.” Hannibal stood away from Wil and all you wanted to do was run to him and hold him in your arms until the pain went away, until his shaking subsided, until he was happy.

“What’s happening to me?!”

You couldn’t bear to watch but you had no choice so you covered your mouth with your palm to ease your sobs, although they didn’t compare to the volume of Will’s.

“Will, Will. Will, you’re having an episode. I want you to hand me the gun. Will, I want you to hand me your…

“Will?”

Will’s eyes rolled back in his head and with one final whimper, he went silent into violent tremors. The whites of his eyes were weaved with red vein as they strained with his convulsions. Hannibal pried the gun out of Will’s hands before he could accidentally pull the trigger with one unlucky twitch.

“Will?” Your breath came shallow and quick and you rushed forward; at least that’s what it felt like, when in reality, you crept forward at a snail’s pace with fear and trepidation. 

“Will!” Hannibal shushed your cries and kept his back turned to you. He held Will’s face firmly and peeled his eyelids back to do something you didn’t know the significance of. His eyes. Then he felt Will’s forehead: temperature. Then his neck: pulse. Then he turned around unworried and squeezed your hand for a brief second before facing your guest.

“He’s had a mild seizure.” Hannibal announced. Your face felt clammy with anxiety and you held Will’s hands in your own, afraid to touch him if he would break and afraid not to touch him if he would fall. The world was drowned out in the sound of your blood rushing through your ears, pumping back into your heart then out again. A low whine registered in your brain but you didn’t realize that it was your own voice crooning. 

“That doesn’t seem to bother you.” Dr. Gideon said. You jolted but didn’t face him, unable to tear yourself away, even for a second, from Will. You almost forgot he was there. You stared into Will’s pale, trembling face and couldn’t remember seeing anything more terrible in your life. None of the deaths that you’ve caused and helped cause compared to the agony you felt in every cell of your being at seeing Will in this fragile, sickly state.

“I said it was mild.” Hannibal countered. Will was falling apart, right in your fingers, and Hannibal had the audacity to say it was mild? You let out an involuntary wretched sob and held your breath, knowing that if you breathed again you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from screaming.

“Hush, darling.” Hannibal cooed and kissed the top of your head. To quiet your sobs, you buried your face in Will’s chest. You could smell the panic bleeding off him in waves. The fear. Oh, poor Will! What had he done to deserve this? Your heart, ripped in shreds, pulsated woefully at his suffering.

The sound of a chair creaking then, “Are you the man you claimed to be the Chesapeake Ripper?” 

A beat. “Why do you say ‘claimed’?”

“Because you’re not. You know you’re not, and you don’t know much more about who you are beyond that.” Hannibal’s voice was even, soothing, therapeutic.

“Are you the Ripper?” Gideon’s voice was curious yet indifferent.

“A terrible thing...to have your identity taken from you.” The beginnings of a threat loomed in Hannibal’s words.

“Well, I’m taking it back, one piece at a time. You should see the pieces I got out of my psychiatrist.”

Hannibal’s next words were slow and drawn out. As if he was savouring them as they left his tongue. “Alana Bloom was one of your psychiatrists too. Is that right?”

“Oh, no, please…” Left your mouth but you didn’t know why. The name Alana Bloom had never come up, you had no idea who that was but you felt the conversation was taking a deadly turn for the worse. You begged but you didn’t know for what. Will experienced a particularly violent tremor and you hiccuped.

“Yes. Dr. Bloom.” 

Hannibal listened to your crying in ecstasy. “I can tell you where to find her.”

The air leaving your lungs grated and burned in you like steel wool. “Oh, god, no,  _ Hannibal- _ ”

“Darling,  _ hush now. _ ” Hannibal’s voice was pointed now and all you could do was sob and hang on to Will to ground yourself even though you wished for nothing more than the earth to open up and swallow you into its cold black womb. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoyed this? Leave a comment!  
> ALSO: how would you guess feel about smut in the future? Maybe for this story or maybe as a one shot another time? Leave a comment for that too please!


	6. human error

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there's a difference between sharing and taking. you were the definition of that fine line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you suckers never expected a mid-week chapter, did you!  
> well i wrote this whole 2,--- thousand word mess on the plane at 4 in the morning. if it's loopy and confusing, that's why.   
> is this becoming more romancey?? Will we ever know?? will Will ever know?? the world may never know
> 
> do you guys want me to put a Stockholm syndrome warning on this? it never occurred to me but i can if u guys want me to! idk if this is technically stockholm syndrome, it's more like just dating an asshole (that is a murderer) but whatever you want is fine w me!

“Will, can you hear me?” Hannibal’s voice echoed, a mockery of concern. “Repeat after me. My name is Will Graham.”

            Will’s eyes opened just the slightest and his head shook life a leaf. “My name is Will Graham.” He recited. His voice sounded rough, like someone rubbed down his vocal chords with sandpaper.

            You sat across from Will. In front of you, a candelabra that held burning sticks of wax lit Will’s face in an unearthly glow and a wide stretch of dishes lie untouched. After Hannibal had sat the still seizing Will at the dining table, he went off to finish the meal you two were having. Three, now. A dish was in front of Will too. A garden salad garnished with pomegranate seeds and dark berries: the appetizer. Poached salmon, fried calamari, raw tuna belly, fresh oysters: the main dish. Homemade ice cream and crème brûlée served with a raspberry coulis and fresh cream: dessert.

            “Raise both of your arms.”

            Will complied, shaking. He hadn’t seen you yet. You took advantage of that to wipe your face of drying tracks of tears.

            “More,” Hannibal demanded. “Good.” He said when Will raised his upturned palms above his head.

            “Although you may not feel like it, I need you to smile.” You laughed breathlessly, mirthlessly, at that. Will’s sweat drenched frame seemed to feel the same as he wobbled in place. A slow, tortured smile crept up his cheeks. Hannibal smiled for real. You did the best you could to keep a neutral face. You could barely keep yourself from crying.

            “Good. It wasn’t a stroke, You may have had a seizure,” Hannibal helped Will into a chair at the table. “Tell me the last thing you remember.”

            “I-“ Will began. Then his darting eyes noticed you and their red rims widened. He whispered your name, not on purpose, but because he didn’t have the energy to talk at full volume.

            “Why are you here?” He kept his eyes on you the best he could but you could see them roll back in his skull. You smiled softly. “Focus, Will, darling, focus.”

            His mouth opened and closed a number of times before he could spit out his next words. “I was with Garret Jacob Hobbs.”

            Hannibal took Will’s temperature.

            “You have a fever. You were hallucinating, you thought he was alive, here, in the room with you.”

            “I saw him.” Will insisted through his sick haze.

            “Will…” You interrupted. “Won’t you have dinner with me?” It was an inappropriate time and place, yes, and you hadn’t included Hannibal in your gesture. Will seemed to hear you but to not understand as he just licked his lips and blinked.

            Hannibal kept his gaze level with Will, who kept glancing back in your direction. “He’s a delusion disguising reality. Don’t let that let you slip away.” Hannibal stood up.

            “You killed Garret Jacob Hobbs once. You can find a way to kill him again.” Hannibal slipped on a coat over his suit jacket and you felt tears spring back in your eyes. _‘Don’t make Will go through this,_ ’ you thought, ‘ _please_.’

            “Where are you going?” Will’s voice was flat and dead.

“Abel Gideon is still at large. He mutilated Dr. Chilton,” You could tell that Hannibal was pleased with his suffering. Nothing showed, nothing that would have said he was pleased, but you knew better. Under that plastic, polite mask he wore every day, his face was split with glee. “They found him clinging to life. I’m worried about Alana.”

            “Alana…” Will seemed to understand that.

            “No, no, no, no, no, no. Will.” Hannibal put his keys down, paced over to Will, and firmly sat him down again.

            “You’re in no state to go anywhere but the hospital. I’ll call Jack and tell him where you are.” Hannibal turned the corner and left the dining room.

 

 

            It was just you and Will. Face to face.

            “Yes, won’t you have dinner with me?” You reached for a fork in front of you but your hands were shaking so bad you just knocked it off the table. You laughed.

            “That’s alright,” You said. “I’ll get that later.”

            “N…No.” You saw Will’s Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed thickly. “I need to go.”

            “ _No_. Please,” You begged, “Stay with me here. It’s okay. You’ll be safe. We can curl up by the fireplace and forget this ever happened. Everyone will be alright with your help for just one day. Please.” The world was blurry and you realized you were crying again. The tears kept tumbling down your face no matter how many times you brushed them off and it became such a problem that you just kept your hands on your cheeks to cup the falling tears. At the very least, you could deprive Hannibal of the satisfaction of making you cry.

            “You don’t understand,” Will snapped at you. “I have a job to do and people will die if I don’t do it. Do you want someone to _die_ because you didn’t want to eat alone? Huh? Because you were _too afraid of the dark to be left alone for one goddamned night?”_ Will wasn’t shouting. He didn’t have to for his words to sting and burn like alcohol on a wound. It felt like you were the one on the operating table, having your guts rearranged. Torn up. At least Dr. Gideon was kind enough to use a local anesthetic. Will’s eyes, in pain, glowered like dying coals and you felt yourself wither in their heat. Your whimpering stopped in fear of him.

            “I…” Will didn’t meet your eyes. “I didn’t mean-” He began again, “I don’t want you to see me like this. Please, just go…” Voice gruff and tired, he spoke no more.

            “…” You didn’t know what to say. Instead, you neatly folded the napkin in your lap and placed it back on the table. You stood and grabbed the fork you had knocked over earlier and placed it where it was before. Will still hadn’t looked at you. You slowly walked to him and when you were in front of him his breathing grew slightly more labored. Your mouth twitched at the corners, an unhappy smile. You raised your trembling hands to his face and cradled it. He was damp and clammy, but burning up at the same time. You raised his face to look up into yours and waited until he met your eyes.

            There. His gorgeous, bloodshot eyes met yours for fleeting seconds at a time before looking elsewhere. But that was okay. You didn’t need him to pay attention anyway. You kneeled down on the floor to meet him. He wanted to say something but didn’t know what, an apology, a scolding, a plead. You took away his options by gently kissing him on the mouth. Just for a second. A slow second.

            He tasted salty and there were flecks of blood in his mouth that he drew from his seizure. Chattering teeth had cut his lips down. The kiss you shared with him was different from the ones you’ve had with Hannibal. With Hannibal, you always revered him, worshiped him like a god. And in a way, he was; he controlled your life, he played the executioner, judge, and jury when it came to ending others’ lives. And still, you honored him with your kisses and touches every day, like he deserved them.

            But Will wasn’t Hannibal. Will was human. His lips were rough: chapped, torn, bitten. He was warm- no, _hot_. You could feel his pulse under your palms as proof that he was alive. His eyes that saw nothing but endless waves of chaos and were filled to bursting with constant confusion and hurt: proof that he was human. No god would lessen their glory with false shows of weakness. Will was weak and afraid and he didn’t kiss back.

            You pulled away quickly. You weren’t embarrassed. You weren’t ashamed. The room was silent and cold to you but you didn’t shy away. Will needed love and you were more than ready to give it to him; but maybe he wasn’t ready for it. Maybe you weren’t the one he wanted it from.

            You realized, as you still held Will’s jaw in your hands and his eyes met yours, shocked, that maybe the Alana that Hannibal spoke of earlier was Will’s object of affection. It all matched up and panic crept coldly up your spine but it didn't hasten your actions. It just made you unsure.

            Embarrassed.

            “I’m sorry.” You whispered and brought your hands close to your chest. You barely stopped yourself from tucking a curl of chocolate hair behind his ear as you retreated. “So, so sorry.” You quickly shuffled out of the room. Will still hadn’t moved since you kissed him.

 

 

 

            You leaned against the marble of Hannibal’s kitchen island and stared defiantly at Hannibal even as you heard the latch click of the front door. Will took Hannibal’s keys and his own gun and left. Calm satisfaction danced in and out of Hannibal’s irises and smugness radiated off of him.

            “I kissed Will.” That wiped it right off.

            “…What?”

            “I kissed Will,” You repeated. “Didn’t you want us to share him?” You were met with silence. You could see the gears in Hannibal’s mind turning and you weren’t afraid of him. You were just tired.

            “What I wanted was for me to share Will with you, not to share you with Will.” Hannibal said with his mouth tilted down.

            “Well, you could’ve made that clearer.”

            Hannibal took only seconds to tower over you, pinning you against the counter. “How much clearer could I have made it? I want you and I want Will. I...love you both.”

            “But you don’t want us to share each other?”

            “I want-“

            “Think about it for a second, Hannibal.”

            The tears that streamed down your face were long gone now, and in their place a cold confidence that Hannibal would have to break you to dissipate. His eyes searched your face and though you knew of all his horrible crimes, you felt weak. His tongue ran out to soothe his dry upper lip and you followed its path. He smiled.

            “I see now.” He cupped your jaw in his hands and kissed you chastely. “I apologize.

            “Now,” His hand slotted in the dip of your lower back, “Shall we eat?”

 

 

            You sat at Hannibal’s table but didn’t touch your meal. You had a few glasses of wine, though. Hannibal ate as if he hadn’t just let a criminal escape his out or let a sick patient, a friend, a _lover_ , chase after death.

            “You won’t eat?” Hannibal asked politely but you knew it was a guise. It was a taunt. He was poking fun at you and enjoying every second.

            “I’m not hungry.”

            He smiled.

            “Please, let me stop Will. It isn’t too late. We can bring him here, feed him, care for him. Love him. You, more than anyone else, know how much Will needs some tenderness right now.”

            “No.” Hannibal said simply and continued to eat. He had you in anticipation and he knew it. You knew it. You didn’t give in and ask why not.

            You didn’t have to. Soon, Hannibal finished chewing and washed down his food with a slow sip of white wine. White pairs with fish. “From here on out, every decision that Will makes is his own. I will not be responsible for his actions any longer. He has to decide for himself what he wants: to stay with us, or to fight an impossible fight.”

            “And why is his fight impossible?” You asked.

            Hannibal looked at you like you like the answer is the most obvious thing in the world. “Because his opponent is me, dear.”

            The rest of the dinner was wrought with silence.

 

            You heard that Will had shot Abel Gideon. Not through Hannibal (no, he didn’t even bother to tell you, which made you wonder what the nature of your relationship was) but through rumors and asking around. Jack Crawford was more than happy to tell you the number of Will’s hospital room when you mentioned you had brought food and drink to help his recovery. Maybe it was the concern in your voice, static and grating, over the phone that convinced him. Maybe he was just glad Will had someone concerned for his wellbeing.

            When you arrived there was a woman sitting beside Will. She was holding his hand. The soft pity and love in her eyes made you feel unwelcome and worthless. She noticed you from the clinks of metal thermos in your bag.

            “Oh, hello.” She said and stood up.

            “Hello.” You greeted. There was an awkward pause but only momentarily as she introduced herself.

            “I’m Dr. Alana Bloom. I’m a friend of Will’s.” Alana had the prettiest smile. You couldn’t blame Will for having feelings for her. Butterflies of anxiety fluttered lowly in your stomach at her beauty. Only once or twice you stuttered when you introduced yourself to her. You cringed when you heard yourself say, “I’m also a… friend of Will…”

            Why did you have to hesitate on that?

            Dr. Bloom turned her face to glance down at Will’s unconscious form and a light blush dusted your cheeks at the way her hair framed her face. She truly was beautiful.

            “I’m sorry, but Will isn’t awake yet. He’s still very sick and honestly I shouldn’t even be here, but I was too worried about him not to come.”

            Your lips curved upward. “Same here.” You held out your bag. “I brought him some stuff, but I guess he’s in no state to eat it now.” The bag fell limp by your side and Alana took quick steps towards you.

            “Oh no, no, no! I think Will would appreciate that very much, there’s no need to not give it to him!” She took the bag from your hands, slow enough to allow you time to refuse. When you didn’t, she looked inside.

            “Soup?”

            “Yeah. Double dark chicken soup and-“ The sudden memory of Hannibal serving that to you when you were sick after killing a man hit you. You forgot that he made that. Was some part of you making this for Will because Hannibal made it for you? Some sick, depraved part of your soul wanted closure, and instead of being the victim, to be an accomplice? “- and some orange juice. Oh, and some little snacks; crackers, cheese, and the like.”

            “That’s very sweet of you.” Alana looked into your eyes sincerely and you felt overcome in a sudden wave of self-consciousness. You wanted to look away. You glanced down to relive the pressure. You think she noticed. She did.

            “It’s nothing.”

            “No, really,” She said and placed a grateful hand on your elbow. You wanted to shy away from her kind touch but restrained yourself. “I can’t say how happy I am that Will has a kind friend like you. You know that he has difficulties- well, socializing, with other people.

            “I was afraid he wouldn’t have anyone that cared for him other than his doctors. It’s not healthy for him to be so isolated. Thank you for doing this for him.”

            You smiled, more genuine than before.

            “It’s no problem. Will means a lot to me. I think he has more friends than he realizes.”


	7. judgement day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Final Hour was coming, but it was not final. Merely your own judgement grew near.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas u filthy animals
> 
> READ THE TAGS!!!  
> this chapter (and those coming) may be offensive to some. I'm not targeting this bc of belief, only bc I have a greater understanding of this than other things, and the symbolism from this is RICH

“You want me to what?” 

Hannibal just smiled, his eyes slightly upturned in fondness. How cute you must look to him like this, outraged, afraid, flustered.

“I want you to kill again.”

 

It was sprung upon you suddenly and you dropped the fork that you were holding onto a plate of veal. You had choked on a mouthful of potato and meat and your eyes watered. Hannibal waited patiently for your reply.

“It is about time for some excitement, don’t you think? Will’s just been released from the hospital. Why don’t we give him something to occupy him?” 

Your lips drew in a taught line. This wasn’t normal. “He has enough on his plate for one man,  _ don’t you think _ ?” You threw his own words back at him. But he liked it when you were feisty.

“He is just chewing the fat right now. He has nothing else left to eat. A new dish should entertain him, broaden his tastes. Wouldn’t you like to help him grow?” Hannibal’s dark eyes flicked up at you. The candles flickered. You had to give it to him, Hannibal had a knack for the theatrical. A knack for gaudiness and for persuasion. He was the embodiment of modern baroque in your eyes.

“This isn’t for Will. This is for you. You’re bored.” Your fork scraped loudly against the bottom of your plate. Your dress shirt was pressed and clean, something you’ve learned from your job. Miss Vivian hurt her hip so the shop was closed for a little while, since she trusted no one but herself to run her business. All you’ve had to do was alter your own clothes and take long walks in the park. And go on dates with Hannibal.

“I admit, I may derive some pleasure from playing these games.” His own silverware flashed and he took a slow bite of his meal, savouring it. 

“Is my life just a game to you?” 

“Yes,” Hannibal answered simply, “What is a life if not enjoyable?”

  
  


Will had asked you to get some coffee with him. Over text, he asked more formally than he normally spoke with you and added a question mark at the end of his text. None of the casual slang he occasionally used, no cute emojis or pictures of his dogs. Just

_ ‘Hello. _

_ ‘Would you like to get some coffee with me on Tuesday after work? I can pay. Let me know as soon as possible. Thanks.’ _

And it was kind of appalling to you. What had happened to Will? It sounded suspiciously like a date.

 

You sat on a wicker chair in some urban, hipster coffee shop that sprang up recently. In the same block, two other coffee shops had been started as well. You were happy that small businesses were having their chance to grow and develop but this was just ridiculous. Why can’t there be more restaurants? Why only coffee shops? Why not bakeries, toy stores, or massage parlors? 

A man across the room spoke obnoxiously loud into an overlarge cell phone and a middle aged woman placed a long order for a single cup of coffee, her server looking blatantly displeased. Will had said he would meet you here and you couldn’t help but criticise his choice of rendezvous location. For a man with social problems to the extent of his, this was like a fish choosing to live in a bird’s nest. He was completely out of his element and not until he sat down across from you did you realize why he chose here.

“Hi,” He said, unwinding a scarf from his neck. His nose and cheeks were bitten red by the cold and he looked tired. Tired but happy. That was a fantastic change from tired and despairing.

“I’m sorry I’m late, I just had something I had to do before I came.” His eyes kept straying towards the tabletop and you couldn’t blame him. The cafe just kept growing louder and louder, almost to an uncomfortable volume. He picked at a nail bitten down to the skin as you reassured him he was fine. You were happy to wait for him.

“I brought you this. Thanks for, you know, coming to see me.” He took your bag out of his backpack. The thermos and bottle were clean and the cloth bag looked like it had been washed. 

“Oh, no problem,” You said, “Will.”

A slightly nervous silence encompassed the two of you. 

“I wanted to talk to you about something.” Oh.

“What is it?”

“The night I shot Abel Gideon.”  _ Oh. _

“What about it?” He brought you here so you wouldn’t feel threatened. So you would feel safe. What better place to know that you were allowed to back out of the conversation than a bustling coffee shop, surrounded by muscled men in mustaches and strong, empowered women? Will had brought you here for your own sake. How…

 

Thoughtful.

  
  


“I,” He started and wiped his brow. “I had hallucinations that night, as you know. Or I think you do-”

“I do.” You interjected.

“Well-” He began but the angry shriek of a blender interrupted him and he watched as you laughed, silently, at the unfortunate timing. He smiled. It wasn’t like how Hannibal smiled. You were quite fond of it.

“Well, I wanted to know what happened that night. There are some parts I’m not sure if I-” He hesitated, “fabricated.”

You mulled over what to tell him. This wasn’t what you had an answer for. You forgot that he might not believe it happened. You forgot that he might not  _ want _ to believe it happened. A dryness creeped up your throat and you tried to ignore it but it tickled and burned like fire.

You smiled. “Of course I can tell you. How about we start from what you remember. Do you remember-” A violent coughing fit broke your sentence and a man with a bun in his hair looked at you, disgusted. He moved his chair away from you even though he sat tables away. It was the thought that counted.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot the drinks!” Will stood from his chair and rubbed your spine between your shoulder blades. Soothing.

“I’ll get you something now. Tea? Earl Gray?” He asked. You nodded your head through watery eyes. His brow was creased in worry and his concern was endearing. No wonder Hannibal loved him.

 

Hannibal.

 

You unlocked your phone and tapped Hannibal’s name; he was third in your call log, first being Will and second being an unknown number that left a message for a man named Randy Jinderein.

“Hello?”

“Hannibal,” You said, “Will wants to know if I kissed him.”

“How nice.” Hannibal responded curtly. He still wasn’t very pleased that you kissed him. Maybe it was because he hadn’t kissed Will first.

“What do I tell him?”

“Why not tell him the truth?”

“That you tricked him and I took advantage of a man with a mental illness because I couldn’t consider his well being before my own?” You offered, only half sarcastic.

“No,” Hannibal sighed, “That you kissed him and cherish him. Leave out the part where  _ we _ kissed right after that, passionately, dare I say. I don’t believe he’d take very kindly to that. At the moment, at least.” Hannibal added as an afterthought, smug. You frowned slightly. You sounded like a harlot when he put it that way. 

“Well… Alright. I have to go now, Hannibal.”

“Goodbye, dear. I love you.” Hannibal said. Maybe he didn’t realize what he said or maybe he did. He was a creature of curiosity, after all.

“Y-yeah. I love you too.” You tacked on. Will grinned sheepishly at you in the long line and scratched the back of his neck. A tender smile crept on your lips. You felt something strong, something ancient for Hannibal, but it didn’t feel right to call it love. Love was pure. This was something else. But for Will, on the other hand-

“What’s wrong?” Will’s green eyes were, for once, not clouded with worry. Instead, curiosity and genuine concern swam in his eyes like fish in a still pond.

“Oh,” You hadn’t realized that you drifted off in a reverie. “Nothing. I’m just thinking.”

Wood creaked as Will sat. He placed a brown cardboard cup in front of you. It was warm in your hands. 

“You like it sweet, right? I put a lot of sugar in there. I hope it’s not too sweet.” 

You took a sip of it. 

“No,” You answered, “It tastes just right.

“So what did you want to know again?”

Will flushed slightly. “Well… I was wondering if you could tell me what happened. I might have… false memories. I want to see everything as it was. Crystal clear.”

So he did remember. A little, at least.

“Alright. So what had happened was Hannibal and I were having dinner. Well, we were about to. There was a knock on the door: you. You came in with a gun and you were waving it around and shaking and- and you looked really sick. You were sweating and you were so hot, Will, you were burning up.

“And I asked what was wrong and you wouldn’t talk to me, you just wanted to know if this was real. I didn’t know what you were talking about but Hannibal spoke to you and you said you saw a man named Garret Jacob Hobbs. I don’t know who that is, Will, but it was a hallucination. You kept shaking and you were crying and I was crying; oh, I can’t tell you how much it hurt to see you like that. I was like my heart shriveled up and died in my chest.

“You asked me who I saw and when I told you nothing you were inconsolable. I think you had a seizure. That’s all, really. Hannibal finished making dinner; I don’t think there was anything else he could do. I sat by you and tried to wipe your forehead but, god, Will, you were sweating so much I don’t think I helped you at all.”

A humourless chuckle left Will.

“And then we had a little fight, Hannibal tried to get you to stay, you tried to leave, I was in the way. In the end, I guess you did what you planned.”

Will seemed to know that. You could see the words dancing on the edge of his tongue and you weren’t sure how you would answer. You knew what you  _ should _ answer, but you didn’t know if you had the heart to say it.

“W… Was that all? Nothing else happened. Between us?” Another few seconds of explosive noise from the blender gave you time enough to decide what to say.

Yes.

“No,” Your tongue writhed against your teeth, your heart fighting your brain. “There was one more thing.”

“What was it?” Was that hope in Will’s eyes? Or was it apprehension? Oh, god, why did you ever meet him why did any of this have to happen why why why.

“Will, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean anything bad by it, I swear, I just,” You babbled and Will waited impatiently for you to finish.

“I’m so sorry, Will, I kissed you.”

Will licked his cracked lips and you had enough shame in you to look away. At your hands in your lap. Fingers curled in your palms. Fingers picking at the nails. Fingers pinching and twitching nervously.

He laughed. Will sounded relieved. You swallowed thickly and Will took deep breaths.

“I’m so glad,” He said, “I didn’t make that up.” The soft wrinkles in his face lifted up his eyes. Will looked the happiest you’ve ever seen him.

“What?”

“I’m so glad I didn’t make that up. I…” He took a shaky breath and met your shy gaze. “I have feelings for you. I’m a little confused on what I’m feeling but it’s there. There’s a woman you should know about, Al-”

“Alana Bloom?”

Surprize washed over Will. Then it was followed by a wave of puzzlement. 

“How do you know Alana?”

“I met her when I came to visit your hospital room. She’s a very kind person, Will. You would be a lovely couple.” You smiled but it didn’t reach your eyes. It seemed your smile never did these days. 

“What?”

“You like her, right? Have feelings for her? You spoke about her that night when I-”

“You kissed me.”

A disappointed frown played on your mouth. “Yeah.”

Will reached for your hand over the table but jerked back suddenly like he was burned. You got the message though. You unfurled your hands and placed them on his and he squeezed you comfortingly, lovingly. 

“I do care for Dr. Bloom,” He began, “But I also care for you. I just don’t know who I have stronger feelings for yet. I’m sorry.” He said in an almost pitying way. You didn’t want him to pity you.

“There’s no rush, Will.” You said. “Just don’t make me think you care when you really don’t.”

“I-”

“No, Will. It’s okay.” You drew your hand back and you felt his fingers twitch forward to hold on just a little longer. “Was there anything else you needed? I know you’re busy and I don’t want to keep you waiting.”  
“No- Erm, Yes, actually. I’m going… on a trip in a few days. I’m close, I’m so close to figuring out this case. This’ll all blow over soon. I’ll call you when I come back but I don’t think I’ll be able to pick up the phone when I’m working. Please, don’t tell anyone about this.” Will begged you. He _begged_. 

“Why can’t I tell anyone?” Was your immediate question.

“Crawford still thinks I’m sick. I swear,” He assured you, “I’m not. I’m not in the hospital anymore and my head is clearer than it's ever been. I’ll finally catch this killer and then we can talk about- about us. Deal?” The noisy coffee shop was whitenoise to you as you got caught up in his smile. Will’s bright, nervous, crooked smile.  _ Us _ , he said.  _ Us _ .

“Deal.”

  
  
  
  


Your hands shook as you felt a long, curved blade strapped to your thigh under your pants. The frigid air nipped at your nose and you could feel yourself growing red from the cold. Hannibal sat beside you in his car, unusually pleased with himself.

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this.” Your voice was trembling and weak.

“I’m not making you do anything, my dear. I’m simply encouraging you to carry through. Every action you make is your own and only your own. You have a chance to back out. But as soon as you leave this car, there is no turning back.” Hannibal rested his hand over yours on your thigh.

“You wanted this.”

“We wanted this.”

“I was never like this before you.” You hissed.

“I was never like this before you, too. We are shaped by our experiences. How has your experience with me shaped you?” Hannibal’s voice lilted playfully.

“I was happy.”

“That’s a lie.”

“I was happy enough!” You shouted and winced when your voice hit the ceiling and bounced back. You were never happy enough. You felt exhilarated when you were with Hannibal. Was that happiness?

“You felt like you had no calling. But you do now, don’t you? You feel powerful. Strong. You have two very capable men by your side that are complete opposites as well. You could either choose an evil or a good. But you want both, don’t you?” He elaborated. He took your speechless floundering as key to continue.

“It isn’t wrong to choose both. Who doesn’t want to live lavishly?” He raised your hand to his lips and kissed it. You could feel the light pressure of his teeth beneath his thin lips. You bet he wanted to eat you right up.

 

Eat you alive.

 

Your chest ballooned in a sweet mix of ecstasy and fear. Blindness swam over your eyes, then a white light. You thought you had a revelation but it was just the lights of a passing car. The grip on your clammy hands held tight and confident. Reassuring.

But it was wrong to carry through. It was wrong to play god.

But he was right.

 

It felt so good.

 

So sweet.

So ripe.

  
  
  
  


So

  
  


_ Right _ .

  
  
  
  


Cold winter air buffeted your hair and you sunk your face deeper into the dark, overlarge coat you donned. The bag on your back was heavy with nails, food, and warm, sleepy alcohol. Dead sticks caught on the handkerchief they were wrapped in in your bag.The streetlights had died out long ago and only the cracked coverings of them were left. The moon was the only source of light tonight. Might as well. It was full and pregnant with the promise of woe.

You had done your research. Hannibal waited in his car approximately five blocks away. You had no way of knowing he stayed in his car but he said he would be there when you needed him there and you trusted him. You were in the same boat, after all.

No one respectable lived on this side of town. Just the homeless and drug addicts lived in broken down hotels and crumbling apartment buildings. It was a ruin, in every sense of the word. Not even hookers ran shifts on this side of town. No one had money here to spare for that. Only for booze and drugs.

Nobody cared about anybody here. You felt a strange sense of comfort here. Something deep and dark contracted within you and you wanted to stay in this rabbit hole, filled with the forgotten. You could be forgotten too, if you would just run. 

The shape of a man leaned against an old movie theater in the distance. There was an alleyway right next to its entrance. That holster on your thigh felt real heavy.  _ Real _ heavy. Puffs of hot air left him and floated towards the sky. He was wearing a thin, tattered black coat and a beige hat. You had a feeling the hat wasn’t originally that color. 

There was no one around. You had waited, ten minutes maybe, for someone to pass by but no one came. Not even a light or siren. Snow piled up on the ground and you took that as your cue to move ahead.

 

“Hey, man.” You said and stood in front of the man. He glanced up at you, angrily.

“What the hell? Piss off.”

“I got some stuff you might like in my bag. You want it or not?” You didn’t budge from your spot and kept a stone face. You felt like screaming.

“What stuff?” The man sat up from his slouch and eyed you up and down. Judging if you were a threat. If he could take you down and out.

“Food. Heat.” He was interested but not enough. “Booze.” That sure piqued his interest. 

“And whaddya want in return? A quickie? I don’t do that stuff. I got my honor.” He spoke defiantly. The wrinkles by his eyes and his jowls led you to believe he wasn’t new to this. Alcoholism.

“Nothin’, man. Just some company. I’m feeling lonely somethin’ awful.”

He appraised you once more then grumbled and patted the ground next to him.

  
  


His name was Peter. You thought it was strangely fitting for tonight. This time, it would be Peter, not Him. He was forty-seven years old and started drinking hard when he was in his twenties. It just went downhill from there. The ugly purple circles under his eyes could testify that he had a long journey. He could rest easy now though. He would.

He laughed boisterously as he gulped down the last of your thermos. His cheeks were pink from the alcohol or the cold but probably from both. His eyes were hazy and his speech had began to slur a long time ago. You were ready now.

“Say, what’s down that alley?”

Peter took a long look down there. He seemed to not recognize it for a moment. Then it clicked in his head. “Oh, yeah, that there’s me cot. I-I sleep there. D’ya-” He hiccuped, “D’ya wanna go back there for some, ya know…” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and you laughed.

“Yeah, man.”

 

The alley was dark and cold but the theater roof kept most of the snow out of it. Peter had shuffled excitedly when he heard you took up his offer. He was so eager. Metallic noises and loud clinks echoed through the alley as he shoved cans and other objects off his moth-eaten mattress and onto the ground. They bounced and rolled and you felt as empty as they did. 

But you felt electric.

By the time Peter had turned around to face you with his belt unbuckled, your huge winter coat was on the ground behind you and you stood in front of him wearing a custom made plastic suit you got from Hannibal. The cold blade of your knife flashed in the pale moonlight and before Peter could say a word, you lunged on him.

Your gloved hands slammed on his throat and he choked silently, unable to scream. His reaction time was dulled enough for you to pull his head back by the hair and shove that handkerchief roughly down his throat to silence him further. Writhing, his hands shot up to claw at your face but you reared back on your heels in time to just dodge his reaching fingers. Oh, how you pitied him. At least he was numbed by your alcohol. His poison.

You wrenched your arm high and aimed carefully; then you slammed the blade between his ribs, shredding his thin coat and ripping the knife down to gut him. His hot blood splashed in the snow and puffs of steam clouded your eyes and he managed to hit your chest weakly in an effort to live. You rolled backwards into the snow on the hard pavement and heard Peter’s guts spill as he struggled to turn over. He was a bloody mess.

Meaty pulp. His flesh and insides spread along the concrete as he dragged himself away from you. A long line of organ was left behind him as it uncoiled from its tight cage. You wanted to end his pain.

You pulled a few iron nails from your backpack and felt their weight in your hands. Heavy enough. Thick enough. Sharp enough.

Peter had crawled nearly ten feet during that short time when you weren’t looking. It was a surprise. How durable and resilient the human body was. How tough.

But not nearly tough enough for you.

You flipped him over, biceps and triceps burning with the stress. You were much stronger than you were before. Mentally and physically. And you owed it all to Hannibal.

Peter still had the cloth lodged in his throat and you were glad. But at the sight of his terrified and pained eyes, you could have cried. Instead, you pinned one of his arms down and hammered a long nail into it with this hilt of your knife. His screams were muffled through the gag and his blood flowed in the creases of the cobble stone. The nail didn’t break through the ground but your strength was enough for it to be wedged between the stones. He couldn’t move. Blood flew through the air from his free arm as he tried to push you off again and you nailed that one down too.

But he still hadn’t died. You were disappointed and confused. Why couldn’t he just die? You didn’t want him to suffer, you just needed this done.

_ But why? _

 

The thought zapped through your mind and you froze in terror.  _ Why were you doing this?  _

 

Movement returned when you realized you had no real choice. Hannibal had asked you to and how could you ever disobey him? Him, the god of death, the god of war.  _ Praise be Dr. Hannibal Lecter, may he guide you ever more. _

 

You strangled Peter to death. His blood began to cool and you wondered how long it would take to freeze. His eyes stared up at your face and you shut them. Give the man some dignity, after all. You just needed to do a few more things.

With his own blood, you smeared the shape of lips onto Peter’s cheek. You pulled dead brambles from your bag and twisted their long stems and thorned bodies into a crown. You placed it on his head and arranged it in a way where he looked proud and kingly. It was the least you could do when you had to nail his feet down as well.

This Peter would be your Jesus. 

You were Judas.

And you were sure that, one day, you would hang yourself for your grievous sins.

  
  


Hannibal’s car pulled around the corner soon after and he wore the grin of a warrior after a victorious battle. He watched as you shed the plastic suit and stood bare before him in the snow. He watched as you dressed again and were unable to rid yourself of your tremors. He kissed away your tears as you sobbed. He drove away into the night after checking that no evidence had been left behind. He was absolutely elated.

But you were not.

The high had left you.

But you were sure of one thing.

 

You were Judas.

 

And you.

 

Would.

  
**_Hang._**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so  
> yeah.  
> i went to a catholic school from pre-K to 8th grade...... so.... i learned a lot
> 
> feedback (especially on this chapter) needed!!


	8. hallucination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heat and a vicious urge washed over you. If you were lucky, you'd make it out alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ey I'm back with apology smut  
> So i'm busy up until the end of the month and ill list why at the end of the chapter! this is totally skippable smut but it may come into play later, so just the last 2 paragraphs are important to read if you want to skip it!  
> title is from one of my favorite songs from the Labyrinth soundtrack. That song gives me tons of inspiration and I've been thinking of writing Labyrinth ff too.... David Bowie as Jareth the Goblin King was my first love (and my first thirst) and he still is <3
> 
> WARNINGS  
> -guro(?)  
> -cannibalism  
> -d/s  
> -smut  
> -pain play???? (cutting,burning)  
> -extreme violence and death  
> -bondage/restraints  
> -dirty talk (really gross not even sexy it's just abhorrent)   
> -general disgustingness
> 
> i hate myself

He deserved this.

 

Every slice, every cut, every burn.

 

He deserved every bit of it.

 

“What?” You asked. “You like this?”

 

Flecks of blood sprayed out of Hannibal’s mouth as he let out a breath. It was probably intended to be a soft laugh, an amused laugh. It didn’t come across that way. It came across as desperate. 

The knife in your hand trembled in your grip and you couldn’t believe how lucky you were to be cutting into him and feeling his life ebb out. You pinned him down with ropes and stakes and he lay on the stone floor of a silo in the middle of nowhere. A brook babbled in the distance but it was muted by the layers of concrete, metal, and insulation in the curved walls of the building.

You had tried to ignore the smell of burnt flesh but it wasn’t going away like you hoped it would. His charred fingers writhed periodically, especially when you did something terribly painful to him. When he wanted to touch you the most. The stench wasn’t nearly as strong as the smell of his blood, but at least that was tolerable:  _ enjoyable, _ even. Hannibal’s wails and pleas made up for it, though. He was never clear on whether he wanted you to stop or wanted you to make him hurt more. 

Shadows from the moon washed him in white and his blood was ink black. His arms and legs stretched straight out from his joints and were tied tight enough for his fingers to go pale and bone white. A noose kept his neck taught and exposed to your eyes. His own shone with pain and pleasure.

 

“I-I don’t know what you mean.” Hannibal said through the bruising pressure of the rope around his neck. From the eye at the top of the silo, he was displayed in the middle of a pentagram. The tendons in his neck stood out and he was naked as the day he was born. Hannibal was desperately aroused.

“Oh, baby,” You laughed, “I can’t wait to see you cry.” And the blade sliced through the flesh over his cheekbones like butter. The entire time you sat on his chest and tried not to slice too deep, he stared right back at you, right in your eyes. Happily.

 

“What? Not gonna scream?” You whipped the knife back across his cheek. “Not even a little?” A smile- no, grimace- crossed his face and you could feel his heart jump in his chest. Jump right under your core. 

 

“Would you finish any sooner if I did?” His teeth were pink with blood and you were so tempted to lick it off him. So you did. A long, wet stripe from his chin to his temple, making sure to fuck that little gash with your tongue along the way. You notice his chest trembled under the weight of your hips when you did that. You did it again. It tasted like ash and copper and anger. He moaned. You moaned.

 

“If I said yes, would you punish me?”

 

“My dear, you’ll have to untie me for that.” 

 

You pouted. “I guess not then.” And you grabbed his hair in your fist and pulled back hard until you heard the loud, muted sound of his skull snapping against the concrete and you bit on his collarbone like a dog. 

 

“This is what you get for fucking Will over. I’m gonna rip you apart and let you suffer. Let you bleed and scream until you run dry. Your vocal cords snap. Whatever comes first. I’m gonna split you open and see what makes you tick. I’m gonna do what Will didn’t get the chance to. I’m gonna make you scream, you fucking animal.”

Hannibal let out a whimper at your abuse and his vision swam, the colors of your face, your hair, your naked body on his all blurred into one. You dragged your teeth from his collar until you reached the cap of his shoulder-the frontal deltoid- and bit down hard on the firm muscle until you felt it give in under the crushing strength of your molars. He screamed, oh god did he scream. The salt, the iron, the heat of his blood ran down your mouth in rivulets and something hot hit your back. Hannibal’s head lolled on the bloody floor.

 

“Done already, honey? Can’t even keep with me? I haven’t even touched you yet, you goddamn son of a bitch.” Your hand came down fast on his face 

(the side that was still pretty and clean and unbruised for the most part)

 

And red spit flew from his mouth. He coughed up some more blood. He bit his cheek. You pried his mouth wide open until you could see where the shining tissue on the inside of his mouth was bleeding. Then you stuffed your fingers in his mouth and pinched his tongue until he squirmed.

“I really needed you tonight, Hannibal. I was gonna kill you after you fucked me senseless but I guess you can’t even do that, huh?” You cooed and kissed up and down his chest until you came all the way back to his lips. He kept staring at them and staring.

“Gonna make the first move, handsome?” 

His lips met yours so brutally that his teeth split your lip and you moaned at the pain and he moaned at finally tasting your blood. You could feel his chest tensing with the strain of trying to pull his arms in, to touch you, to feel you, to love you. A smile broke the kiss and Hannibal leaned up for more but clicked your tongue and he obediently laid back down.

 

“What a good boy.”

 

You brought your hands to his shoulders to steady yourself and you raised your hips. 

“Now, don’t get jealous, alright, baby? You came too early and you can’t get mad at me for getting what I want. Wanna see?”

 

You leaned back

 

(it was still warm and now it was all over your back)

 

And opened your legs, showing him just how ready you were. Absolutely dripping. Flushed. You could smell your heat. Hannibal made a weak, desperate sound from his throat and you bit your bleeding lip at that. 

 

“Too bad you’ve tired yourself out.” You snapped your hips towards his face, fast enough for his mouth to get wet with your arousal but not steady enough for him to get a good taste of you.

 

“This is all you get for misbehaving,” You said and sat back down on him. “And now it’s my turn.” And your pelvis ground hard into his chest and you yelped at his firm flesh being pressed so closely to you. Nails raked red lines across his shoulder and you took his hair in your hand again and smashed his lips with yours. It was bruising but goddamn it felt good.

 

“Oh, god, I could just tear you apart.” 

 

“And what would you do with me?” Hannibal’s eyes flashed red and every beat of his heart, every lurch of his lungs, it sent electricity through your nerves and a fire flared deep in your stomach.

 

You laughed, “What? Want me to eat you?” You fell silent when you felt a tremor travel through Hannibal. Red dripped out of his mouth and you realized he bit his tongue in his shakes. You used your fingers to wrench open his jaw and blood pooled quickly inside. Hannibal’s lips flexed around your fingers and you took them out; he was trying to speak.

 

“Alive…” He said in a thin, whisper. “I want you to eat me  _ alive _ .” 

 

A low whine echoed throughout the silo and you didn’t realize it was coming from you until Hannibal moaned for you to touch him more.

 

“I’ll take good care of you, baby,” You lowered yourself down his body until your heart pulsed over his. Hot flesh rested between your thighs and left wet streaks in its wake. Hannibal was hard again. You wanted to fuck him right into the ground. “Real good care of you.”

 

You reached a hand under you to position yourself comfortably on his hipbone. Beads of sweat rolled down your back as you pressed yourself against his bone and rolled your hips in circles. As the scene around you vanished in your pleasure, you extended your neck over to Hannibal and mouthed soft, slow kisses along the column of his throat. He groaned your name and you sunk your teeth in deep, severing veins, tendons, his sweet skin, and tossed your head back. The resistance of his anatomy caved in to the brutal strength of your jaw, powerful, merciless teeth, and you growled. He split from himself rather easily. A chunk of flesh hung between your teeth and you sucked on it as arterial sprays washed you in red and black and you came, shouting through Hannibal’s throat and convulsing. You rode through the waves and grinded on him, getting off on the sounds of him suffocating through his blood, gurgling and drowning. You opened your eyes to see the life leaving his, absolute delight and depravity etched on his bleeding cheekbones, and you swallowed the piece of him in your mouth. It went down your throat thickly. You wish you chewed more.

  
  


Then, only then, you actually opened your eyes but saw nothing in the darkness of your bedroom, heard nothing except the thrum of your heart, and felt nothing except the wetness in your underwear. 

By the time you calmed down enough to think, you had soaked through your clothes and sheets with a pungent mix of sweat, tears, and come. You took a cold shower but couldn’t wash off the shame and confusion you felt from your disturbingly erotic and erotically disturbed dream. Images of blood rose in your mind, of the carnage of Hannibal, of how excited he was, how eager he was to die. The coldness did nothing to ease you away from your shame. Snaking down your wet body, your hand took up where your dream left you. Warm and wet. 

  
  
Warm and wet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the first time I've written smut, much less something of this caliber.... i hope it was enjoyable. leave feedback please!
> 
> im a disgusting person ugh
> 
> but i'm able to watch Hannibal again (yay!) but my life just got really busy so I haven't been able to write recently. I've got no motivation anymore, y'know? i've been trying to write a book and that's not working well with me either but I made myself sit down and i just happened to write smut..... hopefully i got back into my flow.
> 
> what's going on w me?  
> I'm in a musical now! Just the ensemble, but i'm really busy until the end of the month when our show is over! ill try to work but idk how it'll work out or not.  
> tbh fan fiction is really helpful to me. i used to rely on it to help get me out of the blues as a sort of comfort, and while it still can do that, it's mainly a creative outlet for me to flex my writing brain. this is honestly the best writing practice I've ever had. just compare this fic to my first Hannibal one and WOW, loads of difference!  
> Anyway, PLEASE leave me feedback. leave thoughts on what you think of me writing a book too, please! i need any extra motivation i can get! i love all of you for being so patient and caring and i couldn't wish for a better audience than my lovely Fannibals~

**Author's Note:**

> Did you enjoy this? Please leave kudos and a comment on what you liked and what can be improved!  
> Updates will be (mostly) every sunday


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